Title in progress
by hellrath
Summary: (A controversial novel that warhammer loyalists may be offended by, no offense intended, though it does break some rules in warhammer history) The Bask'n are a revolutionary third phase colony originating from Vior'lan armed trading convoys that patrolled the furthest fringes of the Tau empire. Using the amazing technology of the Tau, they have created the ultimate machine...
1. Chapter 1

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"


	2. Chapter 2

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…


	3. Chapter 3

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…


	4. Chapter 4

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…

Chapter Three

All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.

The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.

Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.

Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, _Independence Day, _John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…


	5. Chapter 5

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…

Chapter Three

All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.

The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.

Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.

Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, _Independence Day, _John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…

Chapter Four

A small explosion carried across the ship as the custodian began its entry sequence and slowed to manoeuvre around the planets and their rings. Many looked up from what they were doing, they were too fast to recognise what it was from, probably just some fuel going off.

Lots of calls, the chairman of NASA, and various professionals travelled thousands of miles to examine the footage of the alien ship destroying their 6 million euro invention. There was lots of controversy to whether this could have actually been an alien ship, some thought it was just an especially large rock, some explained that the engines on the back were just rocks burning in their own atmosphere. Either way, the site was surrounded by news companies and the leaders of the western world were already trying to think of a solution, it was no secret that they were trying to give Russia and the middle eastern countries as little involvement as possible, and while their governments continued their pathetic squabbles and grudges, the construct grew ever closer, last seen on the satellite monitoring Pluto, the thing was examined in detail and it was confirmed that they were dealing with 'people' from another world, far more advanced than their own… as expected, of course. The people of Earth absolutely loved the stereotype and many were ready to welcome the beings with open arms as long as they didn't go all 'Independence Day' on them. The religious leaders of the modern world said little but knew I their hearts that something would go wrong, when one dared to speak their thoughts, they were overflowed by a torrent of anger and frustration at their piousness, the general message was; "Why do you continue to reach of one God when there are obviously more powerful beings who would deny His existence too?" But it was almost as if the religious leaders all over the world were uniting so they could speak with one voice, the extremists stopped and watched with suspicious eyes, the atheists laughed at them and told them where to go, the agnostics watched them get at each others' necks and looked forward to the arrival of the foreigners so they could feel less lonely.


	6. Chapter 6

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…

Chapter Three

All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.

The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.

Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.

Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, _Independence Day, _John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…

Chapter Four

A small explosion carried across the ship as the custodian began its entry sequence and slowed to manoeuvre around the planets and their rings. Many looked up from what they were doing, they were too fast to recognise what it was from, probably just some fuel going off.

Lots of calls, the chairman of NASA, and various professionals travelled thousands of miles to examine the footage of the alien ship destroying their 6 million euro invention. There was lots of controversy to whether this could have actually been an alien ship, some thought it was just an especially large rock, some explained that the engines on the back were just rocks burning in their own atmosphere. Either way, the site was surrounded by news companies and the leaders of the western world were already trying to think of a solution, it was no secret that they were trying to give Russia and the middle eastern countries as little involvement as possible, and while their governments continued their pathetic squabbles and grudges, the construct grew ever closer, last seen on the satellite monitoring Pluto, the thing was examined in detail and it was confirmed that they were dealing with 'people' from another world, far more advanced than their own… as expected, of course. The people of Earth absolutely loved the stereotype and many were ready to welcome the beings with open arms as long as they didn't go all 'Independence Day' on them. The religious leaders of the modern world said little but knew I their hearts that something would go wrong, when one dared to speak their thoughts, they were overflowed by a torrent of anger and frustration at their piousness, the general message was; "Why do you continue to reach of one God when there are obviously more powerful beings who would deny His existence too?" But it was almost as if the religious leaders all over the world were uniting so they could speak with one voice, the extremists stopped and watched with suspicious eyes, the atheists laughed at them and told them where to go, the agnostics watched them get at each others' necks and looked forward to the arrival of the foreigners so they could feel less lonely.

Chapter Five

The custodian loomed over the watery planet of Earth, two indigenous species held their breath as the huge ship circled, the fist scouts were sent from the ship to investigate the radio signals, pollution clouds and dense light formations.

"Drone 1 and Drone 2 are in the air," Commander Farsight announced in the intercom, "descending now, time to find out what we're dealing with."

The two remora drones swooped down at 1800 mph; each was the size of a small plane and had a pair of burst cannons on the joints of each wing. They were stealth fighter drones and also had a markerlight on each of them and a pair of seeker missiles; the burst cannons were like Gatling guns but fired pulse instead and at a slightly lower rate. The markerlights were target locators to allow anything connected to the same link to get a good fix on an individual target. They were smaller than jets, faster and just as well equipped, even better, they were unmanned.

Down on earth, NASA detected them on radio and swiftly sent a message in Morse code on all frequencies and two jets to guide the way to JFK airport.

"Two Armed vehicles approaching, advising countermeasures", one of the drone controllers shouted.

"No! Follow them, co-operate, we don't want to start the meeting of two races with a bang", Farsight said calmly, "and if they do decide to pull some dodgy manoeuvre, we've got devastating weapons that will blow them to smithereens. Now, have we got a successful match on the species?"

"No, sir, not yet…"

The two drone fighters' shot across the Atlantic Ocean accompanied by both jets, they were making good time, but NASA was wary of the weapons and their purpose on this particular mission. Some wanted to shoot down the drones, but that was quickly denied as they didn't want to-quote, start the meeting of two races with a bang, unquote. People watched the LIVE feed from both tinted window stealth bombers guided the drones to the coast, which was rapidly approaching.

"Confirmation made, species identified, we are in the early 3rd millennium." The head of the Bask'n water caste announced.

"33, 000 years before the existence of our race," Farsight murmured to himself.

"What species?"

"Human."

Farsight's breath caught in his throat, "What planet is this?"

"Earth, AKA, Terra."

The entire ship was dumbfounded as they let the news sink in, on the screens, the fighters took multiple photos of humans far below getting on with their daily lives.

"This is CNN, I am Natasha Robinson, on today's top story, two robotic constructs have left the ship hovering above our atmosphere and are currently being led to JFK airport. After 18 hours of discussion, the American president has decided to allow the Russian Prime Minister stay to greet the 'aliens'. As well as Vladimir Azarov, the Russian Prime Minister and Aaron Morales our President, leaders from all over the world including North Korea have come to greet our guests. Just three religious officials have decided to travel, one being a cardinal from the Vatican, one a Sikh official, and another a famous Jewish Rabbi.

"The welcoming ceremony will include the classic welcome that has been used in many films in the last century, the world's leaders will stand in a semicircle around the visitors, the religious leaders standing in front of their respective countries. There will be a screen in the center of the semicircle which will hopefully provide an accurate representation of our culture, if you have any suggestion please don't forget to tweet or visit our face book…"

Packie watched the screen from his cold, clammy cell, the door had been left open but a prison guard with an electric baton was stood opposite each door, making sure the prisoners leaning out didn't try anything funny. The screen sat on a shelf at the end of the corridor, it wasn't exactly a plasma screen, but it was big enough to get the general idea, the volume was at the max and everyone watched with bated breath, the prison guards were trained to show little emotion, but kept one eye on the screen. Packie leaned so far out the door he was nearly falling out; there came a few frustrated shouts for him to move his head, but in a lot more colourful language. Packie sighed and crouched low, a screwed up ball of paper hit him on his closely shaved scalp, there was a yelp as the thrower was kicked in the shin by a guard and led back into his cell, but he didn't care, the screen was too fuzzy to make anything out from that far away anyway.

Packie glanced back to the corner of his cell, wondering if the child-sized _thing_ was still there. It was a bloated, gurgling, green-brown ball of sludge with small arms and two rows of sharp teeth, Packie figured it was either a test of his will power, a prank set by the guards, or that he was still hallucinating when the police officer's knee rammed into his head back outside the garage the day he was caught two months ago. It didn't seem to be there. There was a roar of approval as the CNN reporter- who the boys thought was super hot stuff- Natasha Williams announced that the Jets had broken off and the aliens were coming in to the airport. We watched with bated breath…

Chapter Six

"Guide them in," Farsight whispered to the drone controllers, "land in the centre of the lights on the ground."

"Amongst the humans?" the drone controller responded uncertainly.

"Affirmative, it seems they have organized a welcome party," he added with a sly smile.

"Roger that," both controllers responded with sharp smiles at their one and only true commander's subtle humour. He rarely expressed such emotion, so they were keen to make the most of it.

Many engineers on the decks commented on the technology visible on the screens from the cameras mounted on the Remora drones.

"Ready a devilfish and my personal bodyguard," Farsight announced, "I want two water caste diplomats and I want my battle suit ready in the back."

Two pathfinders sprinted down the hallways to comply with his orders, they were very fast sprinters, everybody gave them a wide berth as they headed to the cargo bay…

Both Remora Drones hummed to a halt at heads height, the leaders of the world craned their heads to stare into the red lights situated on the markerlights on each drone, cameras, the Tau gasped when they saw them up close, the human race frowned, not sure of what to make of it. They waited. And waited. The leaders began to murmur amongst themselves, but then! A loud roaring of engines as Farsight's devilfish activated its safety procedures. The landing 'legs' extended and the engines on either side swivelled so they were facing upwards and the vents that allowed it to hover were facing down.

The devilfish tuned 180 degrees and before it had even touched down, the ramp swung open. Twelve fire warriors rushed out in full armour. The humans were ready for this though and there were a hundred clicks as safeties were turned off and guns were pointed. The fire warriors paid no attention though as the first helmetless Tau stepped off the transport to greet the humans. They lowered their weapons and created a wide berth for Farsight and the two ethereals…

President Aaron Morales gasped as he came face to face with twelve long, black rifles. Humanoids dressed in body armour trained their guns on them; the famous rabbi instinctively stepped forward to protect his 'foolish' companions. The large transport ship had already startled them, and he didn't feel any safer with the red dots darting on the aliens armour from the laser sights equipped to the USMC snipers' rifles on the building behind him. _Great start _he grumbled to himself, and his mouth screwed up slightly at the explosion of flavour when he accidentally bit too deep into his strong mint. He quickly recovered. Then the two men stepped out, accompanied by a huge robot the size of three men, a bulbous chest, a weapon on one arm, a strange disc on its shoulder and a sword on its other arm.

Everything was quiet, the CNN newsreaders watched, the prisoners at Shawshank state detention centre watched, the professors from the astrological centre in Utah watched from the glass windows in the airport, the world had come to a standstill. People gasped as the fist blue men came out. The huge robot hung back and the two Blue men, about the height of the president, at about six foot, stepped forward and held out their hands…

There was silence, then the Russian Prime minister cleared his throat and stepped forwards to take the alien's hand, but the American President saw what was about to happen and got there first, subtly nudging the temporary 'ally' out of the way. The Tau frowned at this, but smoothly took the President's hand one by one, then shook the Russian's. The American was beaming, but the Tau could see it was very forced, for the news camera traversing the Tau transport behind, and for the news helicopter above.

The President nodded to one of his bodyguards, who pressed a button on the side of the large plasma screen television. To their dismay, the aliens looked fairly bored as they watched the video in total silence, absorbing the culture of this common foe, and the language. In their earpieces, the Tau ethereals were given a stream of Earth words to process, it was their talent to learn languages quickly for emergency communication with foreign peoples. The humans waited as the ethereals talked in their own strange, guttural language with far too many syllables to understand or even get a hint of what they were talking about. Then the ethereal cleared his throat and opted for a human greeting to put them at ease. "How do you do?" He croaked, his voice was hardly perfect and he said it far too quickly for casual conversation. The humans relaxed slightly and one leader chuckled quietly at the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

They then went round greeting each other, the huge robot staying still.

Farsight watched the commotion, studied their faces, spotted three humans studying him more suspiciously than others, their clothes reminded him of the ethereals but it was plain to see by the way they occasionally glared at each other that they were minor leaders of very different religions. Religion. That was the thing that would separate them.

The three leaders stepped forwards to study the robot, eyeing it suspiciously, the ethereals glanced uneasily at them and Farsight's bodyguard stepped in front of the religious Zealots to intercept them. "Allow us to introduce our founding leader." An ethereal announced. "Commander Farsight, overall war commander."

The body of the suit opened to reveal Farsight in a sitting position, dressed head to toe in extra battle armour, many markings on his face. He studied the humans without the aided vision of the battle-suit. Ministers of defence sized him up, then after a long pause the talks began.

Chapter Seven

A warp rift opened on the edge of the solar system, from earth it would take a day for it to be seen, but from Pluto the sight would have made any mortal go insane from the sight and the noise, which was like a club with the volume turned up LOUD, even from a thousand miles away. The fabric of reality rippled then tore apart, a lime green hole forced its way through the darkness and through it five or six huge living ships were launched through, and through the chunk of rock from one end to another. The immense pressure was way too much for the pathetic excuse for a planet, it was sucked halfway in and when it closed, the rift cut it in two, launching the surviving piece deep into the solar system so that two weeks later, after sling shooting around two or three planets, it would smash into the molten gas of the sun and cause a huge wave of heat to roar out in the direction of earth.

The sky went black as night, for the tiny organisms on the heat bathed surface of Venus, the sudden cold froze many scaly bacteria in place, the largest beings, small dust ridden spiders that fed on random deposits of hydrogen in the air wherever it could find them took the brunt of the change and let loose squeaks of pain at less that 0.001 hertz, chaos tentacles reached out and enslaved the organisms, already feeding off their supplies of life and supplying the ships with a source of fuel, within just ten minutes, the entire planet was covered in a cloud of rage, bacteria fought among themselves, ripped each other apart, the death rate rose incredulously, but not noticeably to human speculation, besides, theories of life on Venus had long since been abandoned. The whole planet was permanently redder, like a chilli ready to erupt in flames, the temperature rose exponentially and pockets of air exploded, destroying any neighbouring objects, including the SS Shame XI, a Mexican satellite launched just two months previously…

Within the first few weeks, the Tau had settled their ships in the desert in North Africa, integrated into society in different major cities all over the world. Their policies were not entirely approved of by the west so they based themselves mainly in Asia. The human governments seemed interested in involving them in their own disputes once they'd seen the practical demonstration of their weapons. The Tau soon realized that many of the white men were power hungry and the rest were either religious zealots or brutal dictators. When religious leaders preached that the guests were demons, the Tau certainly did not respond kindly, they fought back with accusatory words, hundreds of warriors cheered for the ethereal speakers and called for the execution of their pious hosts. Within a few weeks, they became a very controversial issue, many religious leaders called it a sign that judgement day was near, the ones who were not god fearing, or not _deluded,_ as the ethereals liked to phrase it, called it a wake up call from an ignorant society of optimists and idealists, ideas which were banned long ago in Tau society, all ideas but the Greater Good had been banned, only one idea would survive, introduce two or even more and there will only be war.

The blistering hadn't subsided, my entire arm was covered in cracked, swollen skin, the prison doctor told me to rub cold water on every half hour and apply cream at least four times a day, but I think he just wanted me to think I was going to get better, I saw the look of dismay when he saw it, as if it wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He examined it under a magnifying glass with a furrowed brow the depth of the Grand Canyon. He shook his head and prescribed me some kind of treatment for burns, didn't say anything about blisters on it. The inmates were acting weird too; I sat with three mates, huddled in a corner, while others stared at us with dead gazes, we decided then and there to apply for the military and as we dispersed, I showed myself to my cell while the guard stood by the corridor, staring dumbly into the barrel of his rifle, what was funny was that no-one took advantage of the situation, it was just too creepy.

17th May 2015, the same day the US withdrew all it's troops from abroad, Patrick decided to join the corps for the rest of his sentence, he was bored and desperately needed to be active, plus he was afraid the other inmates might turn on him at just a moments' notice, little did he know that he's be there for longer than a year, and little did the officers know that the skinny, rebellious ruffian would become a renowned war hero in the epidemic war to come.

Chapter Eight

Farsight stared across the cabinet at the members of the United Nations, flanked by two Honour Guards who had refused to relinquish their weapons on entry and stood guarding their leader. "The signs are clear", Farsight announced, "the enemy we fled from has followed us, for that, humans, I am sorry, I advise you gather your armies and prepare for total war."

"Hold up, you mean to say you brought an enemy to our planet," said the secretary of defence for the united states of America indignantly, and forgive me for saying so, but we've seen your technology and seen what it can do, so if you were running from this enemy of yours, doesn't that mean the enemy must be stronger, and if so, than how are we supposed to stop it?"

"Excuse me," the Spokesperson for the secretary of Foreign Affairs for The Russian Federation, "maybe we ought to let him speak."

"Oh for god sakes! This is not the time to start picking sides again, _Russia!_" the President of the US, Aaron Morales, re-elected because of his policies to ensure that all Americans keep all their rights, even in the presence of the visitors. "Wake up and smell the bacon! We should send them away and if their _enemy_ comes here, we should discuss peaceful negotia—"

"NO!" Farsight roared at the top of his lungs, which was about as loud as a rocket propelled grenade exploding on a slab of metal, the entire board jumped up in fright, he slammed his fists on the table and explained in a raised voice, "This enemy can not negotiated with, it can not be defeated in an arms race or a war of attrition, they are like the Al-Qaeda you face even today, they are like a disease, you need to destroy every last molecule before the death will stop, they can not be reasoned with, they reach out with long arms and grab everything within reach, and when they grab hold, they do not let go till everyone is DEAD AND ROTTING in the cusps of their hands! If we leave you WILL be doomed!"

The President gathered himself and spoke, "And if you stay?"

"You will _probably_ be doomed."

"Well isn't that reassuring", the Irish prime minister scoffed with a tired expression and drooped eyes.

Farsight stood and began to stride round the high roofed room, the Tau believe in the Greater Good", he began, "and we believe this is achieved by allying ourselves with any who might see the good in our aspirations, that is how we have always done it and it has worked damned well so far."

He continued round the semicircle, ascending the stairs till, he reached the members of the British Ministry of Defence, "We will fall in with your troops and utilize each others' skills to crush this enemy of superior strength."

"If I may interrupt you," exclaimed the US secretary of defence, "Several weeks ago, the United Nations was informed that the outlying rock, commonly referred to as a small planet; Pluto went off the map. Last Tuesday so did the rest of the solar system except from our neighbourhood sun. We managed to recover this video of the disappearance of Venus in progress." He turned and pressed a small blue button on his desk. The projector overhead whirred and the room turned to face the image at the front. What they saw was a sequence of unbelievable events, supernatural, impossible; a vast colony of ships leaking black smoke and dripping blood. It was a sped up progress, each second, half an hour passed, Venus turned as red as a tomato, moist, no longer solid, like a water balloon, then it burst from one side and turned black and wrinkled as blood poured in impossible amounts from the gigantic rift in the planets' base, it then shrivelled up and exploded like a watermelon, vast fragments of rock, bone and rock.

"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we now have not only a terrifying enemy to fight, but all space flights will now be all but impossible, what with the vast asteroid fields now covering our once peaceful solar system. How are we supposed to defeat such an enemy?"

"Through attrition," Farsight shot back, "our enemy feeds on death, hopelessness and loss, if we can hold out for enough time, the tide will turn…"

The meeting carried on at this pace throughout the night, an endless volley of opposite views, using each other's comebacks as ammunition.

Patrick's first week in the army was brutal, nothing he had expected, a number of Russian and British commanders had travelled to the US to teach them how to be the ultimate soldiers, with the threat of a large scale war ever present. His running skills were invaluable, but his mind was always elsewhere. _Not everyone's cut out to be a soldier _said the voice in his head. Patrick told it to shut up. His friends were always distracted. They had gone to train in Alaska where the temperatures were sub-zero and everything that wasn't covered in three layers of wool fell off. Morale was low, too law for new recruits, suicide was apparent. Patrick played poker with his new friends, normally it was banned, but now even the generals played it as an excuse to 'hone their minds'. Time moved so slowly; it was as if the cold had frozen everything. One morning Patrick awoke early and went outside to puff on a cigarette. The sky was dark as night even though it was eight in the morning. His hands shook and sweat froze as though they were freezing needles on his skin. A mound of snow weighed down the tent behind him. Across the camp, one musician was playing a lone violin; the sound reminded him of his old Xbox games set in WW2 about defiant Russians in the winter cold. He barely acknowledged those parts, thought they were stupid, that they wouldn't have time for such nonsense, that they should be killing people all the time. So naïve. The ground had faint tracks on it from the odd cargo truck packed with frozen goods; frozen vegetables, frozen meat, frozen guns. Another truck turned in about a hundred metres away on Patrick's left. The headlights were like exploding stars in the endless night, they cast welcome heat on Patrick's cheeks and the sound of the rumbling engine was a relief in the frustrating silence of the random icy plane, in the middle of nowhere. He found himself staring at the truck's tyres as it passed. In its' place in front of him, once it had turned the corner towards the canteen, there was a perfectly round stone, like endless black against the perfect white snow, it had no solid edges, it was perfectly round, it was an eye, was Patrick's conclusion, though when he felt it he knew no eye that was as hard as this, it was strangely warm and he felt his blood running in his feet again. He decided he would show it to his friends when they awoke and he started inside. He almost made it; as he turned the stone eye over in his hands, and a long oval of white, as clear as the snow around the orb appeared. It moved across the stones' surface with a strange serenity under Patrick's palm and seemed to _see _him,then the eye closed until it was just a black stone again and slid into his now warm pocket and stayed there.

It took some time for the Tau to integrate with human forces but soon they were covering each others' backs as they raided houses, secured objectives and fought the now decreasing numbers of rebels that threatened civilisation; they seemed to have been caught off guard and were retreating into their until it all finished when they could tell the world they had all been hallucinating and that they were the real rulers. They now experimented with popular culture such as music and video games and explored the virtues of human life, discovered their values, such as respect, love and achievement and mocked their disparity in the face of impossible odds, boasting to the humans of their incredible prowess in battle, causing various scuffles and a few fists to fly, to the surprise of the Tau who didn't expect them to have such a capacity for violence in this early stage of their existence. They were astounded by their charities and sometimes selfless careers, envious of the level of empathy they could feel, they experimented with religion and faiths, interested in the similarities and differences between their many current gods and their one future god.

They wondered why they were not all regarded as equals, how some lived in absolute poverty and others lived in huge mansions surrounded by precious metals and arrogant servants, they developed a basic trust with the lower class of the world and expressed their feelings frankly to the rich who refused to give to the poor, harassing them and asking rather rudely if they were a different species than the humans that believed in charitable giving and had such big hearts, filled with empathy. They argued against such saving graces as the bill of rights and laws which allowed larger holidays, or bigger salaries than others, and they praised successful communist states such as Cuba, but criticised North Korea for forgetting about it's population, who retaliated by threatening to send a nuclear bomb their way, causing a very heated feud. A lot of death threats and insults followed, mainly criticising how close minded the North Koreans were, which the Koreans twisted and fed to its' population as praise for their _beautiful, joyous_ state. On this matter all of humanity had the Tau's backing.

One such army base in southern Pakistan was a perfect example of this unity; a team of pathfinders had integrated with a British SAS squad; two perfect killing machines in one place, they were very much the same, they felt as important as each other, they worked with the same efficiency, the same speed, confrontations with Islamic extremist groups were not so much a challenge as a competitive game to take out the enemy first. But despite their snobbish nature, they were both very serious when it came to the fight and forgot about their petty differences with regular soldiers. The SAS squad leader's name was Duncan Stuart, the Tau Shas'vre, an individual who declined the chance to fight in a colossal battle suit when he was promoted more than five years ago, was called Bentu'vre, as he was wise and experienced, and Vre was his rank. "What is it like where you're from?" Asked the 40 year old Duncan in one of his rare conversations with Bentu'vre, who was 60 years old himself, 20 years older than the average Tau lifespan, but somehow hadn't lost any of his youthful virtues.

"Our world varies like yours does. Where we are based the land is hilly, with grass and mountains, elsewhere the ground is as dry as a lizards skin. Foul alien spores corrupt some areas; others are dotted with tombs here and there to compensate for sleeping machines. It is not a pleasant land, every day our defences are assaulted by hordes of creatures, every day thousands die on either side, which is nothing compared to the losses outside." He spoke with little emotion, but stared at his knees. Duncan dared to ask, "and outside?"

"Death, only death, there are tales of a human world upon which trillions die upon every year."

Duncan could barely believe it, but didn't want to argue so he left it at that.

Chapter Nine

They weren't ready, not ready for the ferocity of the first attacks, their troops weren't dispersed enough, there were not enough to cover the globe as the first rocks from destroyed planets fell, they were in fact cocoons for the enemy troops; cultists from 38,000 years in the future, savage, with small rifles that shot small rapid bursts of laser. What was most disturbing was that they were all human at some point, but their bodies had been ravaged by chaos, it took the earthlings too long to comprehend the enemy they were facing before they were overwhelmed.

North Korea, Pyongyang, in one of their artificial districts, littered with plain-faced individuals who were not allowed to speak for themselves and had seen nothing of the outside world. They looked up as they heard the faint roaring of the rock hurtling through the atmosphere, some pointed, others tried to continue as if nothing had happened, constantly afraid of the oppressive government. The roaring became unbearable, then rock smashed into the ground, not causing a crater nut instead shattering, impaling a number of people and leaving forks of rock stuck in the tarmac. Bayonets and flashes of light quickly cut down the rest. Later that day, North Korea appealed for help and for the first time in many, many years, foreign soldiers were allowed to cross the border into the world's biggest prison.

The entire world was panicking, riots were amok, martial law was in effect in most states, and the apocalypse was being preached in dozens of pious countries. Patrick had been moved to one of the worlds' most important assets, which was currently under siege by thousands of crazy cultists; London, England.

Patrick rose to attention as the officer in charge spilled out orders in a thick south London accent, barely decipherable. His insults when used against unruly marines were downright hilarious, words like "Knobber!" and "Bell end!" The English truly were terrible at insults. However he never went psycho with us, he stood his ground and looked us straight in the eyes, while he broke us down mentally. He was a prick, but we held a special kind of respect just for him, the kind that involved 'friendly' jives and pouring cans of beer over his head at two in the morning, rewarding us with two hundred push ups, while he went round and stood on each of the culprits' backs in turn. But it was all morale lifting stuff, no hard feelings.

The next morning, I woke in my small room. We were based in a prison, in cells with unlocked doors, I shared with two guys and they were quite spacious, which counted for nothing when you had nothing but plain grey walls to stare at if you couldn't sleep. In the corner was the small black orb. I had forgotten about it. It's eye hovered over me, staring, shrunk away when I glared back, grew when I lost interest. There was shouting and a crash as a table was flung over the railings outside and hit the solid concrete four floors down. The orb's eye grew, as if in alarm, then it seemed to stretch till the orb was three times it's original size, with a kind of thick tail on one end. It slowly wriggled towards me and I rose my knees to my hips on the metal chain link bed, with its' thin mattress. It stopped at the base of his bed, its' eye now the size of his foot, the entire body the size of an adolescent panda. It raised its' 'head' with the speed of a sloth and became as still as an old oak tree. Patrick slowly clasped his hands around its' warm exterior and lifted it as if he were examining a newborn baby. It seemed to look inside Patrick, looked into his soul, then the eye closed and it shrunk to the size of an apple, it's tail disappearing into its' inky dark surface, the eye closing. Patrick put it back in his pocket where it belonged. Where it _belonged_.

Patrick's first confrontation with the enemy was one to haunt him forever, it was an embodiment of the name the aliens had given them; Chaos. He set out into Twickenham in Richmond, where they'd managed to contain some of the threat thus far. There were a few big schools nearby, and an active high street, with a wide, empty road. They disembarked off a military train at Twickenham station and sprinted up the stairways on either side. Five teams of six, each equipped with state of the art Swiss weaponry. Patrick ran the last few metres of the bridge walkway despite his heavy armour, and then successfully vaulted the barrier. They were very well disciplined, they first secured the station and a team set up defences there and stayed put in case they needed a quick getaway. The other four teams spread out. Patrick's team headed down one of the narrowest roads away from the main high street, securing and clearing large houses and newsagents along the way. Some people were even still living here despite the warnings to evacuate to the inner city. So far the loss of life was at 1,500,000 in the UK _alone. _They turned left onto a fairly long suburban stretch and spread out along the road. Fires crackled on either side and the sky was a dark, moody gray. There were bodies, but they were either dismembered or burnt unrecognizable, however, they were all clearlydamaged by the rocks and not the bastards themselves.

They reached a small junction where a separate road on the left curved round a corner. It didn't look promising; it was pitch black, fires roared in silence, broken furniture blocked it off; two houses had collapsed onto the road, covering the street in bricks, glass and tiles. Worse, they had found where all the bodies had gone. They were on sharpened wooden poles, wrapped around lampposts, some were hanging by their spinal cords, and others were still alive… Patrick couldn't stand it any longer; he bent over and heaved. He had never seen anything like that, not in the fatal shooting of his parents and younger sisters, not in the famous US prison massacre of 2014. They carried on and approached the school. This was worse; teenagers and adults had been flung over the railings, the gates had been decimated. We stooped over the wreckage of the wrecked iron gates and proceeded to enter the school through the once automatic double doors.

It was a mess, chairs were everywhere, some melted, others welded to unlikely surfaces, such as windows, there was a smell of burnt plastic and there was a rainbow coloured liquid all over the floor; petrol. We secured the huge school room by room; there were hundreds, as we continued down the infinite corridors towards our objective; the playing fields in a boxed off section of the school. It was unsafe to go round to the fences surrounding the field as the rocks were falling like rain and the area was being pounded by heavy mortar fire. There was a screech as a burning cultist with a huge meat cleaver leapt out of a room way down the corridor and flew straight through a plane glass window, it turned its head to spot us just as it passed through, a wretched expression on it's face as it went, its nose was huge, with boils and one nostril several times bigger than the other. Its mouth was tiny, clamped by its teeth, which hooked through its lips. Another followed, this one completely focussed on its _playmate, _large, tubby, with a gasmask and a spiky club on the end of a sleeve which looked like it belonged to a girl's dress, except the yellow flower patterns were now dark red and shredded.

_Poor taste anyway, _Patrick heard himself, and then scolded himself with some very rude words. They continued down the corridor at a quicker pace now, as the rooms got more and more grimy, burnt out and were filled with more meaningless symbols. No longer checking rooms, they reached the stairs and bounded up, now they were sprinting down a torn carpeted part of the school.

"Cover!" the sergeant roared as a couple dozen mutated humanoids surged towards them from round the corner. But there was no cover, so they ran, fortunately none of the creatures had projectile weapons. Once they reached the first corner and had but a bit of distance between them, they turned and faced them, rifles looking back at them. The devices in their earpieces were beeping fast; the distress beacon was nearby. They opened fire, shots raining down on their infected bodies, shredding them limb from limb, every shot had a target, was planned and hit its mark. They backed up quickly till they reached a junction, one corridor on either side, one behind us. Suddenly, there was a humungous crash as a meteor ricocheted through the school and slammed half a metre into the wall at the end of the corridor to our right, while the creatures continued to push forwards on their left, the rock shattered, peppering them with rocks, one shard shredding a marines' necks, killing him automatically. "Back up!" the British sergeant shouted in their ears amid the deafening RUT-RUT-RUT of the 5.56 rifles. They ran backwards, their feet pattering on the carpet. But behind them another swathe of rabid freaks bundled round a corner, tripping over each other, stray cleavers and maces decapitating mutants wherever a cultist wasn't careful. There were now hundreds of them, literally in such a large mound that their heads reached the ceilings. They closed in gradually, Patrick was sweating violently, and then he turned his head and in desperation kicked a classroom door open. "In here!" He roared over the gibbering mound of no-brainers. The squad rushed in and Patrick shut it behind them, pushing back against the swarm. The others rushed to grab a few tables and prop them against the door. Private Kelly scanned the room and spotted the group of youths in the corner, a mutilated soldier with a distress beacon beeping away in his chopped off hand, a dozen dead mutants lay dead in a circle around them. They quivered with fear, holding the deceased monsters' weapons; the ringleader pointed a chrome glock at the blue door, a determined look on his face. He had a long scar running down his face, one eye was scrunched up, his head was burned where there would be hair and his eyes were bleak; he looked like one of them.

"Finally!" cried one of the boys, who was carrying a metal softball bat, "We've been hiding here for hours."

"Give us a hand!" Patrick roared back, the door was heaving so much; the center of it was bulging inwards. Four of the young lads added their weight to the resistance. The man who was scanning crossed the room and smashed the window, below which, the side of the school next to the football grounds had collapsed, forming a makeshift stairway. Artillery shells slammed down outside ceaselessly, creating an earthquake, causing the school foundations to rumble.

"Climb out the window!" the sergeant roared. The squad rushed away from the door and through the window. There was a short moment of confusion from the crowd outside the door as they stopped pushing against the entire door but instead filed through the open doorway. Their numbers had grown considerably, so that when they moved, various mutants were pushed into and through the wall, creating holes, and finally made the wall collapse, causing the upper floor room to collapse too because of all the vibrations. Patrick slid down the crumbled tower and landed at the bottom, assisting the hooded teenagers. They ran as soon as they were down, stumbling as the shells exploded like C4 around them. The mutants were much slower out there, tripping and crying out in frustration, fighting through random blind fire. A shell landed in a house just behind the squad, causing a huge explosion, making glass and bricks fly everywhere. A chunk of concrete slammed into the back of their sergeant's head just as they had started to put some distance between them and the pursuing horde.

Patrick turned immediately when he heard the dull thunk of concrete colliding with flesh and bone. He almost slipped as he rushed to retrieve their squad leader and haul him over his shoulders before the creatures could devour him. The rest of the squad swore and opened fire, even utilising an under slung grenade launcher, causing a horrific gory explosion, which led to the front lines of the horde to cover their eyes and cough, slowing down enough so that the hundreds that were sprinting behind them crashed into them head on. With a hundred daemonic screams, the rush slowed to a snail pace train of confused, mangled cultists. The squad rounded the corner to the road that led to the high street; the gang of teenagers had already reached the station on the bridge and were vaulting the barricades; the guarding soldiers barely flinching, never taking their eyes off the sights on their mounted heavy machineguns. Their focussed gaze- albeit sweat drenched foreheads- turned to shock and fear as the horde rounded the corner after the fleeing squad, there were so many of them, at least two storey high, climbing over each other, the slow decimated by the strongest, causing them to fall to the bottom and get crushed, culminating in a mess of screams, crunching of bones and heavy footfalls.

Then the armed cultists reached the front of the group.

They opened fire; red lasers scorching Patrick's arms, missing by millimetres, thrown off because the enemy didn't have time to aim with the mad savages closing down upon them from behind. Instead they adopted the unreliable method of 'spray and pray.' This involved pointing the barrels in the general direction of the enemy, while full out sprinting despite their legs of molten lead, running through the pain. Eventually they scored a kill in the shape of one of the British soldiers; the thin beams of dark red light scorched through sinews and muscle structure, creating three small holes, two of which punctured his heart and left lung, they almost went all the way through, apart from the ribs which merely sizzled in the intense heat, causing bile to rise in Patrick's throat. He gagged and tears seeped out of his eyes, a voice in his head roared at him, tormented him, and called him a pathetic weakling. But then the bile disappeared, and then the voice became muffled to a strangled whisper. The slug in his pocket grew and encapsulated him in a membrane under his clothes, invisible to others, causing any shots that hit him to rebound back and shoot through the shooters' barrels, causing mini explosions, eliminating the threat. The membrane then withdrew back into his pocket and the thing concentrated on keeping him focussed. He was dumbstruck at first, then in his mind, grateful as he passed the unconscious sergeant over the barricade at the station, then vaulted it himself, allowing the heavy gunners to open fire. The gun shook a bit at first, then there was a muffled rattling inside as the first rounds entered the chamber, then the gun roared into life, like a lion breathing fire. Each bullet brought an enemy to its knees, the spray created a near impenetrable wall of lead. But it wasn't enough and all at once we were running again, the creatures snapping at our heels, pushing past each other to get a bite out of our meaty shoulders. The train started to leave and the onboard heavy machineguns roared into life. We jumped on as the train sped away down the tracks.

Patrick hauled himself through once they were well away from the station and slammed the door shut. The other squads sat in groups, slumped; humans hadn't experienced so much death in a warzone for decades. They sat in shock, in revulsion of the amount of people they had killed, because even though they were savages, they were all humans once. The sergeant was woken, at which point he screamed, hollow, scared screams, shouting "Blood, blood, blo-o-od." Tears welled in his eyes, parting on his stubble, everyone was afraid. The teenagers were shaken, frozen, they must have been in the school for hours, the dead soldier in the classroom must have protected them but got overwhelmed, before Patrick left he had made sure to grab the man's dog tags.

He opened his fist and stared at the name; L. Peterson, a US navy Seal symbol on the top right corner, a Jewish star on the bottom right. He promised himself that he would mention Peterson to his commanding officer when he returned to be debriefed. He tried to cast the memories of death from his mind as he put his hands together as if was praying and cried into them. Again, he forgot about the strange black creature in his pocket. He didn't have any friends in this unit, but the ones left, including the sergeant when he calmed down, went to sit next to him, somewhat protectively, as they knew the sergeant wouldn't be here if not for him. They say the friends they make in the army are the best friends you will ever make; the friends you make in the army are friends for life. But right now, Patrick only wanted to see Will.

Chapter Ten

The first stage of the invasion was quick, brutal, the death toll was well into its millions, and they were only just getting started. However, now that the Tau was here, the chaos forces were in for a bit of a surprise.

Bentu'vre and Duncan ascended the steady sloped of sand with deadly ease, they were just as fast in the deserts of Libya as they were in the cobbled streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. They were in a hotspot for meteor drops, all they had to do was place a beacon in the center of the drops and get the hell out of there. The US government had something special in mind, something they had only used twice in hostility, something they had anticipated throughout much of the 20th century, something that would show the enemy that they weren't quite as primitive as they thought they were… you'll see.

Once the pair reached the crest of the dune they stopped, lay flat on their bellies and Duncan produced a monocular from his kit. The terrain was flat from here on in, the previous dunes flattened by the force and regularity of the meteors. A few weeks ago, the dune would have dropped suddenly, with light gray rocks at the base of the cliff a hundred feet below. Now however, the flat desert was only 25 feet below since the sand had been distributed evenly over the space from the wind created by meteors burning through atmosphere. They had stopped falling as regularly two days beforehand, but a telescope had spotted an even larger cluster approaching at high speed from the direction of Mars.

The desert was covered in figures; dehydrated, dragging their limbs through the deep sand, many mounds of dead mutants with too much clothes, or too little which had resulted in fatal, agonising burns. Primitive walls of shattered meteor had been formed, many holes and crevices in the walls cramped with sheltering cultists. The heat seemed to drive the beast out of them as they strove for a breeze. Surprisingly, their were engineers down there; mutants with welding masks and blowtorches. Duncan used his skills of reasoning to estimate the amount of hostiles in the gorge below. "I'd say roughly 2,200 tangos, we're going have to use a flare… and we'll also need a getaway plan." Duncan shifted in the sand, trying to get into a comfortable position with his bag slung over his back, unbalancing him. He grunted with frustration and stowed the small, camouflaged device, "I prefer clearing buildings."

"Remain steadfast," Bentu'vre murmured, adjusting the scope on his rail rifle. The rail rifle was practically a handheld cannon/ sniper rifle. He had modified it specifically to leave no trail from the projectiles it fired, and to make nearly no noise whatsoever, in exchange for its armour piercing value; now it couldn't punch holes in jeeps anymore, only flak jackets. Each round was as valuable as a human sniper rifle, each owner of a rail rifle probably had a kill count of about three hundred individuals, and usually had disabled at least five vehicles in their life time with pure resourcefulness and tact. The owner was widely renowned in the fire caste as one of many legendary shooters, unmatched in most aspects, perfect accuracy, particularly a Shas'vre, especially one who refused a battle suit.

A freezing breeze washed through the gorge below, then rushed through Bentu'vre and Duncan, they winced but it wasn't something they hadn't experienced before; Duncan in the frozen wastes of Siberia and Greenland in winter, and Bentu'vre on the -60 degree nights on his home planet… and that was on a good day! The mutants on the other hand cried out in pain; they already hated this planet.

"You ready?" Duncan asked with a slight grin on his face, his trigger finger itchy.

Bentu'vre nodded, then they both rose to a crouched position and picked off the stragglers with unmatched ease, each shot entered their temples and cut off all feeling immediately, moving their barrels to combat the 18 mph winds. They rushed the camp, killing all who got in their way, both equally efficient with their ammunition and their combat knives; except Duncan's was short and had a practical serrated edge, while Bentu'vre's looked ceremonial and was long and sharp, meant for stabbing and lopping heads off with the ease of a samurai blade. Then, in the middle of their silent bloodbath, Duncan caught his battle brother's attention. A large figure was looming over a small group of cultists; the figure was at least 8" in height and almost half that in width due to heavy armour. The huge warrior was holding a huge sub machine gun; which looked more like a cannon sized heavy machine gun. It was holding its helmet by its side, which was horned and had both eye slits like an eagle, and a breathing grille that looked like a round triangle, which somehow made it look more terrifying. The monster the suit belonged to was wearing a sly grin, eyes red as a hot chilli shone like stars in the darkness. Bentu'vre stood still as a gargoyle, the monster stared back through the pitch-black darkness. The monster nodded at Duncan, with a sneer that made Bentu'vre furious suddenly. He roared at the monster, startling the cultists and charged him very unprofessionally, so Duncan did the only thing he could think of and grabbed him by the collar of his armour, stopping him in his tracks before he could do something stupid, he was sure the sword with spikes on its side in the monster's holster wasn't just for show. The monster laughed in a deep tone and said something in a foreign language, then put his helmet on. "You do not even know what you are dealing with, puny mortal," the creature sniggered, clearly enjoying the moment; keen to hear their last defiant line before their demise, they were always _so _creative! But Duncan did something that hadn't been done in thousands of years, something deemed punishable by death by the Imperium; it was the last thing he could think of doing, he pulled down his pants and stuck it in his direction, while flipping him off, then pulled them up and sprinted the other way with a confused Bentu'vre in pursuit. The monster stared after them for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened, and then roared with blinding fury and gave chase.

They swerved round walls of meteor rock and slumped low behind a mound of sand formed by a recent meteor. "What was that?" Bentu'vre demanded, shaking his head.

"Improvising," Duncan panted with a sly grin.

"Did you pinpoint the target?"

"Affirmative. "

"Where."

Duncan glanced with great embarrassment at the –flare in the middle of the camp; a quarter mile away. Bentu'vre swore in his native language. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes."

They stood still as statues for just a moment, eyes wide, then rocketed up the slope. The pursuing mutants cocked their heads at this sudden change of tactics, but thought little of it and gave followed them in their arrow straight path as far away from the clearing as possible.

Duncan's breathing was heavy, still moving at a flat out sprint to escape the impending doom that was to cover a ten-mile radius. They were not going to make it. "Dig!" Bentu'vre cried. They'd lost the mutants and dug like dogs; once they had a hole big enough, Bentu'vre extended a sheet of thick lead over the hole; used to defend against sandstorms, but should have the same effect on hydrogen bombs if in a sturdy position. There was a dull thump far away. Mutants stopped looking for them and ran screaming, then the loudest bang they had ever heard almost shattered their eardrums. The ground shook, as if they were being shaken by a giant which was using the earth as a colossal bowling ball, the lead sheet glowed white hot and melted the sand in contact with it. Duncan's skin, not used to temperatures so high ended up burying his face in Bentu'vre's arm; Bentu'vre didn't pull away. The deafening roar subsided and Bentu'vre used the butt of his gun to push the cover away, singeing the black paint in the process. Duncan squinted up at the night sky, coloured crimson, toxic smoke filled the air so Duncan wore his gas mask and Bentu'vre pulled on his helmet. Random fires burned, a mushroom cloud rose steadily into the air, such devastation, no matter the circumstances, was nothing to rejoice about. They turned around, and headed north.

It was a huge explosion, a signal to humanity on that terrible day; Monday, August 6, at 8:15 a.m., 1945, a similar, not quite so big bomb was dropped, paving the way to humanity's demise. It was a symbol that there would only be war and death, there would be no more peace; from that day forward, no one would be free again. Kergoth the Lord of Night watched the mushroom cloud grow from orbit, he was not shocked in any way, rather, this is what he had been waiting for, it was the signal that he should take things up a notch, the cultists were being pushed back, the enemy were adapting to them, using the right strategies to purge them in their thousands, then eject them into space via planes that flew just inside atmosphere. He turned and headed through an automatic door, which creaked and hissed as it opened, making a gouge in the floor deeper still. His footfalls were heavy, his armour creaked and motors controlling his blood flow spun like loose rotors on a helicopter, a bubble of septic flesh popped on his face, which he smacked with frustration; by praying to one God of truth, it seemed the others took notice too.

He turned and headed to the cargo bay, where clusters of cultists were being loaded into hundreds of small escape pods for atmosphere entry. He sauntered through a derelict part of the ship, a pair of doors were wide open and red light seeped out, as he passed, there was huge noise, his eardrums rattled, he felt his entire body shake and madness threatened his mind, then he passed and the noise went away.


	7. Chapter 7

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…

Chapter Three

All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.

The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.

Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.

Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, _Independence Day, _John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…

Chapter Four

A small explosion carried across the ship as the custodian began its entry sequence and slowed to manoeuvre around the planets and their rings. Many looked up from what they were doing, they were too fast to recognise what it was from, probably just some fuel going off.

Lots of calls, the chairman of NASA, and various professionals travelled thousands of miles to examine the footage of the alien ship destroying their 6 million euro invention. There was lots of controversy to whether this could have actually been an alien ship, some thought it was just an especially large rock, some explained that the engines on the back were just rocks burning in their own atmosphere. Either way, the site was surrounded by news companies and the leaders of the western world were already trying to think of a solution, it was no secret that they were trying to give Russia and the middle eastern countries as little involvement as possible, and while their governments continued their pathetic squabbles and grudges, the construct grew ever closer, last seen on the satellite monitoring Pluto, the thing was examined in detail and it was confirmed that they were dealing with 'people' from another world, far more advanced than their own… as expected, of course. The people of Earth absolutely loved the stereotype and many were ready to welcome the beings with open arms as long as they didn't go all 'Independence Day' on them. The religious leaders of the modern world said little but knew I their hearts that something would go wrong, when one dared to speak their thoughts, they were overflowed by a torrent of anger and frustration at their piousness, the general message was; "Why do you continue to reach of one God when there are obviously more powerful beings who would deny His existence too?" But it was almost as if the religious leaders all over the world were uniting so they could speak with one voice, the extremists stopped and watched with suspicious eyes, the atheists laughed at them and told them where to go, the agnostics watched them get at each others' necks and looked forward to the arrival of the foreigners so they could feel less lonely.

Chapter Five

The custodian loomed over the watery planet of Earth, two indigenous species held their breath as the huge ship circled, the fist scouts were sent from the ship to investigate the radio signals, pollution clouds and dense light formations.

"Drone 1 and Drone 2 are in the air," Commander Farsight announced in the intercom, "descending now, time to find out what we're dealing with."

The two remora drones swooped down at 1800 mph; each was the size of a small plane and had a pair of burst cannons on the joints of each wing. They were stealth fighter drones and also had a markerlight on each of them and a pair of seeker missiles; the burst cannons were like Gatling guns but fired pulse instead and at a slightly lower rate. The markerlights were target locators to allow anything connected to the same link to get a good fix on an individual target. They were smaller than jets, faster and just as well equipped, even better, they were unmanned.

Down on earth, NASA detected them on radio and swiftly sent a message in Morse code on all frequencies and two jets to guide the way to JFK airport.

"Two Armed vehicles approaching, advising countermeasures", one of the drone controllers shouted.

"No! Follow them, co-operate, we don't want to start the meeting of two races with a bang", Farsight said calmly, "and if they do decide to pull some dodgy manoeuvre, we've got devastating weapons that will blow them to smithereens. Now, have we got a successful match on the species?"

"No, sir, not yet…"

The two drone fighters' shot across the Atlantic Ocean accompanied by both jets, they were making good time, but NASA was wary of the weapons and their purpose on this particular mission. Some wanted to shoot down the drones, but that was quickly denied as they didn't want to-quote, start the meeting of two races with a bang, unquote. People watched the LIVE feed from both tinted window stealth bombers guided the drones to the coast, which was rapidly approaching.

"Confirmation made, species identified, we are in the early 3rd millennium." The head of the Bask'n water caste announced.

"33, 000 years before the existence of our race," Farsight murmured to himself.

"What species?"

"Human."

Farsight's breath caught in his throat, "What planet is this?"

"Earth, AKA, Terra."

The entire ship was dumbfounded as they let the news sink in, on the screens, the fighters took multiple photos of humans far below getting on with their daily lives.

"This is CNN, I am Natasha Robinson, on today's top story, two robotic constructs have left the ship hovering above our atmosphere and are currently being led to JFK airport. After 18 hours of discussion, the American president has decided to allow the Russian Prime Minister stay to greet the 'aliens'. As well as Vladimir Azarov, the Russian Prime Minister and Aaron Morales our President, leaders from all over the world including North Korea have come to greet our guests. Just three religious officials have decided to travel, one being a cardinal from the Vatican, one a Sikh official, and another a famous Jewish Rabbi.

"The welcoming ceremony will include the classic welcome that has been used in many films in the last century, the world's leaders will stand in a semicircle around the visitors, the religious leaders standing in front of their respective countries. There will be a screen in the center of the semicircle which will hopefully provide an accurate representation of our culture, if you have any suggestion please don't forget to tweet or visit our face book…"

Packie watched the screen from his cold, clammy cell, the door had been left open but a prison guard with an electric baton was stood opposite each door, making sure the prisoners leaning out didn't try anything funny. The screen sat on a shelf at the end of the corridor, it wasn't exactly a plasma screen, but it was big enough to get the general idea, the volume was at the max and everyone watched with bated breath, the prison guards were trained to show little emotion, but kept one eye on the screen. Packie leaned so far out the door he was nearly falling out; there came a few frustrated shouts for him to move his head, but in a lot more colourful language. Packie sighed and crouched low, a screwed up ball of paper hit him on his closely shaved scalp, there was a yelp as the thrower was kicked in the shin by a guard and led back into his cell, but he didn't care, the screen was too fuzzy to make anything out from that far away anyway.

Packie glanced back to the corner of his cell, wondering if the child-sized _thing_ was still there. It was a bloated, gurgling, green-brown ball of sludge with small arms and two rows of sharp teeth, Packie figured it was either a test of his will power, a prank set by the guards, or that he was still hallucinating when the police officer's knee rammed into his head back outside the garage the day he was caught two months ago. It didn't seem to be there. There was a roar of approval as the CNN reporter- who the boys thought was super hot stuff- Natasha Williams announced that the Jets had broken off and the aliens were coming in to the airport. We watched with bated breath…

Chapter Six

"Guide them in," Farsight whispered to the drone controllers, "land in the centre of the lights on the ground."

"Amongst the humans?" the drone controller responded uncertainly.

"Affirmative, it seems they have organized a welcome party," he added with a sly smile.

"Roger that," both controllers responded with sharp smiles at their one and only true commander's subtle humour. He rarely expressed such emotion, so they were keen to make the most of it.

Many engineers on the decks commented on the technology visible on the screens from the cameras mounted on the Remora drones.

"Ready a devilfish and my personal bodyguard," Farsight announced, "I want two water caste diplomats and I want my battle suit ready in the back."

Two pathfinders sprinted down the hallways to comply with his orders, they were very fast sprinters, everybody gave them a wide berth as they headed to the cargo bay…

Both Remora Drones hummed to a halt at heads height, the leaders of the world craned their heads to stare into the red lights situated on the markerlights on each drone, cameras, the Tau gasped when they saw them up close, the human race frowned, not sure of what to make of it. They waited. And waited. The leaders began to murmur amongst themselves, but then! A loud roaring of engines as Farsight's devilfish activated its safety procedures. The landing 'legs' extended and the engines on either side swivelled so they were facing upwards and the vents that allowed it to hover were facing down.

The devilfish tuned 180 degrees and before it had even touched down, the ramp swung open. Twelve fire warriors rushed out in full armour. The humans were ready for this though and there were a hundred clicks as safeties were turned off and guns were pointed. The fire warriors paid no attention though as the first helmetless Tau stepped off the transport to greet the humans. They lowered their weapons and created a wide berth for Farsight and the two ethereals…

President Aaron Morales gasped as he came face to face with twelve long, black rifles. Humanoids dressed in body armour trained their guns on them; the famous rabbi instinctively stepped forward to protect his 'foolish' companions. The large transport ship had already startled them, and he didn't feel any safer with the red dots darting on the aliens armour from the laser sights equipped to the USMC snipers' rifles on the building behind him. _Great start _he grumbled to himself, and his mouth screwed up slightly at the explosion of flavour when he accidentally bit too deep into his strong mint. He quickly recovered. Then the two men stepped out, accompanied by a huge robot the size of three men, a bulbous chest, a weapon on one arm, a strange disc on its shoulder and a sword on its other arm.

Everything was quiet, the CNN newsreaders watched, the prisoners at Shawshank state detention centre watched, the professors from the astrological centre in Utah watched from the glass windows in the airport, the world had come to a standstill. People gasped as the fist blue men came out. The huge robot hung back and the two Blue men, about the height of the president, at about six foot, stepped forward and held out their hands…

There was silence, then the Russian Prime minister cleared his throat and stepped forwards to take the alien's hand, but the American President saw what was about to happen and got there first, subtly nudging the temporary 'ally' out of the way. The Tau frowned at this, but smoothly took the President's hand one by one, then shook the Russian's. The American was beaming, but the Tau could see it was very forced, for the news camera traversing the Tau transport behind, and for the news helicopter above.

The President nodded to one of his bodyguards, who pressed a button on the side of the large plasma screen television. To their dismay, the aliens looked fairly bored as they watched the video in total silence, absorbing the culture of this common foe, and the language. In their earpieces, the Tau ethereals were given a stream of Earth words to process, it was their talent to learn languages quickly for emergency communication with foreign peoples. The humans waited as the ethereals talked in their own strange, guttural language with far too many syllables to understand or even get a hint of what they were talking about. Then the ethereal cleared his throat and opted for a human greeting to put them at ease. "How do you do?" He croaked, his voice was hardly perfect and he said it far too quickly for casual conversation. The humans relaxed slightly and one leader chuckled quietly at the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

They then went round greeting each other, the huge robot staying still.

Farsight watched the commotion, studied their faces, spotted three humans studying him more suspiciously than others, their clothes reminded him of the ethereals but it was plain to see by the way they occasionally glared at each other that they were minor leaders of very different religions. Religion. That was the thing that would separate them.

The three leaders stepped forwards to study the robot, eyeing it suspiciously, the ethereals glanced uneasily at them and Farsight's bodyguard stepped in front of the religious Zealots to intercept them. "Allow us to introduce our founding leader." An ethereal announced. "Commander Farsight, overall war commander."

The body of the suit opened to reveal Farsight in a sitting position, dressed head to toe in extra battle armour, many markings on his face. He studied the humans without the aided vision of the battle-suit. Ministers of defence sized him up, then after a long pause the talks began.

Chapter Seven

A warp rift opened on the edge of the solar system, from earth it would take a day for it to be seen, but from Pluto the sight would have made any mortal go insane from the sight and the noise, which was like a club with the volume turned up LOUD, even from a thousand miles away. The fabric of reality rippled then tore apart, a lime green hole forced its way through the darkness and through it five or six huge living ships were launched through, and through the chunk of rock from one end to another. The immense pressure was way too much for the pathetic excuse for a planet, it was sucked halfway in and when it closed, the rift cut it in two, launching the surviving piece deep into the solar system so that two weeks later, after sling shooting around two or three planets, it would smash into the molten gas of the sun and cause a huge wave of heat to roar out in the direction of earth.

The sky went black as night, for the tiny organisms on the heat bathed surface of Venus, the sudden cold froze many scaly bacteria in place, the largest beings, small dust ridden spiders that fed on random deposits of hydrogen in the air wherever it could find them took the brunt of the change and let loose squeaks of pain at less that 0.001 hertz, chaos tentacles reached out and enslaved the organisms, already feeding off their supplies of life and supplying the ships with a source of fuel, within just ten minutes, the entire planet was covered in a cloud of rage, bacteria fought among themselves, ripped each other apart, the death rate rose incredulously, but not noticeably to human speculation, besides, theories of life on Venus had long since been abandoned. The whole planet was permanently redder, like a chilli ready to erupt in flames, the temperature rose exponentially and pockets of air exploded, destroying any neighbouring objects, including the SS Shame XI, a Mexican satellite launched just two months previously…

Within the first few weeks, the Tau had settled their ships in the desert in North Africa, integrated into society in different major cities all over the world. Their policies were not entirely approved of by the west so they based themselves mainly in Asia. The human governments seemed interested in involving them in their own disputes once they'd seen the practical demonstration of their weapons. The Tau soon realized that many of the white men were power hungry and the rest were either religious zealots or brutal dictators. When religious leaders preached that the guests were demons, the Tau certainly did not respond kindly, they fought back with accusatory words, hundreds of warriors cheered for the ethereal speakers and called for the execution of their pious hosts. Within a few weeks, they became a very controversial issue, many religious leaders called it a sign that judgement day was near, the ones who were not god fearing, or not _deluded,_ as the ethereals liked to phrase it, called it a wake up call from an ignorant society of optimists and idealists, ideas which were banned long ago in Tau society, all ideas but the Greater Good had been banned, only one idea would survive, introduce two or even more and there will only be war.

The blistering hadn't subsided, my entire arm was covered in cracked, swollen skin, the prison doctor told me to rub cold water on every half hour and apply cream at least four times a day, but I think he just wanted me to think I was going to get better, I saw the look of dismay when he saw it, as if it wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He examined it under a magnifying glass with a furrowed brow the depth of the Grand Canyon. He shook his head and prescribed me some kind of treatment for burns, didn't say anything about blisters on it. The inmates were acting weird too; I sat with three mates, huddled in a corner, while others stared at us with dead gazes, we decided then and there to apply for the military and as we dispersed, I showed myself to my cell while the guard stood by the corridor, staring dumbly into the barrel of his rifle, what was funny was that no-one took advantage of the situation, it was just too creepy.

17th May 2015, the same day the US withdrew all it's troops from abroad, Patrick decided to join the corps for the rest of his sentence, he was bored and desperately needed to be active, plus he was afraid the other inmates might turn on him at just a moments' notice, little did he know that he's be there for longer than a year, and little did the officers know that the skinny, rebellious ruffian would become a renowned war hero in the epidemic war to come.

Chapter Eight

Farsight stared across the cabinet at the members of the United Nations, flanked by two Honour Guards who had refused to relinquish their weapons on entry and stood guarding their leader. "The signs are clear", Farsight announced, "the enemy we fled from has followed us, for that, humans, I am sorry, I advise you gather your armies and prepare for total war."

"Hold up, you mean to say you brought an enemy to our planet," said the secretary of defence for the united states of America indignantly, and forgive me for saying so, but we've seen your technology and seen what it can do, so if you were running from this enemy of yours, doesn't that mean the enemy must be stronger, and if so, than how are we supposed to stop it?"

"Excuse me," the Spokesperson for the secretary of Foreign Affairs for The Russian Federation, "maybe we ought to let him speak."

"Oh for god sakes! This is not the time to start picking sides again, _Russia!_" the President of the US, Aaron Morales, re-elected because of his policies to ensure that all Americans keep all their rights, even in the presence of the visitors. "Wake up and smell the bacon! We should send them away and if their _enemy_ comes here, we should discuss peaceful negotia—"

"NO!" Farsight roared at the top of his lungs, which was about as loud as a rocket propelled grenade exploding on a slab of metal, the entire board jumped up in fright, he slammed his fists on the table and explained in a raised voice, "This enemy can not negotiated with, it can not be defeated in an arms race or a war of attrition, they are like the Al-Qaeda you face even today, they are like a disease, you need to destroy every last molecule before the death will stop, they can not be reasoned with, they reach out with long arms and grab everything within reach, and when they grab hold, they do not let go till everyone is DEAD AND ROTTING in the cusps of their hands! If we leave you WILL be doomed!"

The President gathered himself and spoke, "And if you stay?"

"You will _probably_ be doomed."

"Well isn't that reassuring", the Irish prime minister scoffed with a tired expression and drooped eyes.

Farsight stood and began to stride round the high roofed room, the Tau believe in the Greater Good", he began, "and we believe this is achieved by allying ourselves with any who might see the good in our aspirations, that is how we have always done it and it has worked damned well so far."

He continued round the semicircle, ascending the stairs till, he reached the members of the British Ministry of Defence, "We will fall in with your troops and utilize each others' skills to crush this enemy of superior strength."

"If I may interrupt you," exclaimed the US secretary of defence, "Several weeks ago, the United Nations was informed that the outlying rock, commonly referred to as a small planet; Pluto went off the map. Last Tuesday so did the rest of the solar system except from our neighbourhood sun. We managed to recover this video of the disappearance of Venus in progress." He turned and pressed a small blue button on his desk. The projector overhead whirred and the room turned to face the image at the front. What they saw was a sequence of unbelievable events, supernatural, impossible; a vast colony of ships leaking black smoke and dripping blood. It was a sped up progress, each second, half an hour passed, Venus turned as red as a tomato, moist, no longer solid, like a water balloon, then it burst from one side and turned black and wrinkled as blood poured in impossible amounts from the gigantic rift in the planets' base, it then shrivelled up and exploded like a watermelon, vast fragments of rock, bone and rock.

"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we now have not only a terrifying enemy to fight, but all space flights will now be all but impossible, what with the vast asteroid fields now covering our once peaceful solar system. How are we supposed to defeat such an enemy?"

"Through attrition," Farsight shot back, "our enemy feeds on death, hopelessness and loss, if we can hold out for enough time, the tide will turn…"

The meeting carried on at this pace throughout the night, an endless volley of opposite views, using each other's comebacks as ammunition.

Patrick's first week in the army was brutal, nothing he had expected, a number of Russian and British commanders had travelled to the US to teach them how to be the ultimate soldiers, with the threat of a large scale war ever present. His running skills were invaluable, but his mind was always elsewhere. _Not everyone's cut out to be a soldier _said the voice in his head. Patrick told it to shut up. His friends were always distracted. They had gone to train in Alaska where the temperatures were sub-zero and everything that wasn't covered in three layers of wool fell off. Morale was low, too law for new recruits, suicide was apparent. Patrick played poker with his new friends, normally it was banned, but now even the generals played it as an excuse to 'hone their minds'. Time moved so slowly; it was as if the cold had frozen everything. One morning Patrick awoke early and went outside to puff on a cigarette. The sky was dark as night even though it was eight in the morning. His hands shook and sweat froze as though they were freezing needles on his skin. A mound of snow weighed down the tent behind him. Across the camp, one musician was playing a lone violin; the sound reminded him of his old Xbox games set in WW2 about defiant Russians in the winter cold. He barely acknowledged those parts, thought they were stupid, that they wouldn't have time for such nonsense, that they should be killing people all the time. So naïve. The ground had faint tracks on it from the odd cargo truck packed with frozen goods; frozen vegetables, frozen meat, frozen guns. Another truck turned in about a hundred metres away on Patrick's left. The headlights were like exploding stars in the endless night, they cast welcome heat on Patrick's cheeks and the sound of the rumbling engine was a relief in the frustrating silence of the random icy plane, in the middle of nowhere. He found himself staring at the truck's tyres as it passed. In its' place in front of him, once it had turned the corner towards the canteen, there was a perfectly round stone, like endless black against the perfect white snow, it had no solid edges, it was perfectly round, it was an eye, was Patrick's conclusion, though when he felt it he knew no eye that was as hard as this, it was strangely warm and he felt his blood running in his feet again. He decided he would show it to his friends when they awoke and he started inside. He almost made it; as he turned the stone eye over in his hands, and a long oval of white, as clear as the snow around the orb appeared. It moved across the stones' surface with a strange serenity under Patrick's palm and seemed to _see _him,then the eye closed until it was just a black stone again and slid into his now warm pocket and stayed there.

It took some time for the Tau to integrate with human forces but soon they were covering each others' backs as they raided houses, secured objectives and fought the now decreasing numbers of rebels that threatened civilisation; they seemed to have been caught off guard and were retreating into their until it all finished when they could tell the world they had all been hallucinating and that they were the real rulers. They now experimented with popular culture such as music and video games and explored the virtues of human life, discovered their values, such as respect, love and achievement and mocked their disparity in the face of impossible odds, boasting to the humans of their incredible prowess in battle, causing various scuffles and a few fists to fly, to the surprise of the Tau who didn't expect them to have such a capacity for violence in this early stage of their existence. They were astounded by their charities and sometimes selfless careers, envious of the level of empathy they could feel, they experimented with religion and faiths, interested in the similarities and differences between their many current gods and their one future god.

They wondered why they were not all regarded as equals, how some lived in absolute poverty and others lived in huge mansions surrounded by precious metals and arrogant servants, they developed a basic trust with the lower class of the world and expressed their feelings frankly to the rich who refused to give to the poor, harassing them and asking rather rudely if they were a different species than the humans that believed in charitable giving and had such big hearts, filled with empathy. They argued against such saving graces as the bill of rights and laws which allowed larger holidays, or bigger salaries than others, and they praised successful communist states such as Cuba, but criticised North Korea for forgetting about it's population, who retaliated by threatening to send a nuclear bomb their way, causing a very heated feud. A lot of death threats and insults followed, mainly criticising how close minded the North Koreans were, which the Koreans twisted and fed to its' population as praise for their _beautiful, joyous_ state. On this matter all of humanity had the Tau's backing.

One such army base in southern Pakistan was a perfect example of this unity; a team of pathfinders had integrated with a British SAS squad; two perfect killing machines in one place, they were very much the same, they felt as important as each other, they worked with the same efficiency, the same speed, confrontations with Islamic extremist groups were not so much a challenge as a competitive game to take out the enemy first. But despite their snobbish nature, they were both very serious when it came to the fight and forgot about their petty differences with regular soldiers. The SAS squad leader's name was Duncan Stuart, the Tau Shas'vre, an individual who declined the chance to fight in a colossal battle suit when he was promoted more than five years ago, was called Bentu'vre, as he was wise and experienced, and Vre was his rank. "What is it like where you're from?" Asked the 40 year old Duncan in one of his rare conversations with Bentu'vre, who was 60 years old himself, 20 years older than the average Tau lifespan, but somehow hadn't lost any of his youthful virtues.

"Our world varies like yours does. Where we are based the land is hilly, with grass and mountains, elsewhere the ground is as dry as a lizards skin. Foul alien spores corrupt some areas; others are dotted with tombs here and there to compensate for sleeping machines. It is not a pleasant land, every day our defences are assaulted by hordes of creatures, every day thousands die on either side, which is nothing compared to the losses outside." He spoke with little emotion, but stared at his knees. Duncan dared to ask, "and outside?"

"Death, only death, there are tales of a human world upon which trillions die upon every year."

Duncan could barely believe it, but didn't want to argue so he left it at that.

Chapter Nine

They weren't ready, not ready for the ferocity of the first attacks, their troops weren't dispersed enough, there were not enough to cover the globe as the first rocks from destroyed planets fell, they were in fact cocoons for the enemy troops; cultists from 38,000 years in the future, savage, with small rifles that shot small rapid bursts of laser. What was most disturbing was that they were all human at some point, but their bodies had been ravaged by chaos, it took the earthlings too long to comprehend the enemy they were facing before they were overwhelmed.

North Korea, Pyongyang, in one of their artificial districts, littered with plain-faced individuals who were not allowed to speak for themselves and had seen nothing of the outside world. They looked up as they heard the faint roaring of the rock hurtling through the atmosphere, some pointed, others tried to continue as if nothing had happened, constantly afraid of the oppressive government. The roaring became unbearable, then rock smashed into the ground, not causing a crater nut instead shattering, impaling a number of people and leaving forks of rock stuck in the tarmac. Bayonets and flashes of light quickly cut down the rest. Later that day, North Korea appealed for help and for the first time in many, many years, foreign soldiers were allowed to cross the border into the world's biggest prison.

The entire world was panicking, riots were amok, martial law was in effect in most states, and the apocalypse was being preached in dozens of pious countries. Patrick had been moved to one of the worlds' most important assets, which was currently under siege by thousands of crazy cultists; London, England.

Patrick rose to attention as the officer in charge spilled out orders in a thick south London accent, barely decipherable. His insults when used against unruly marines were downright hilarious, words like "Knobber!" and "Bell end!" The English truly were terrible at insults. However he never went psycho with us, he stood his ground and looked us straight in the eyes, while he broke us down mentally. He was a prick, but we held a special kind of respect just for him, the kind that involved 'friendly' jives and pouring cans of beer over his head at two in the morning, rewarding us with two hundred push ups, while he went round and stood on each of the culprits' backs in turn. But it was all morale lifting stuff, no hard feelings.

The next morning, I woke in my small room. We were based in a prison, in cells with unlocked doors, I shared with two guys and they were quite spacious, which counted for nothing when you had nothing but plain grey walls to stare at if you couldn't sleep. In the corner was the small black orb. I had forgotten about it. It's eye hovered over me, staring, shrunk away when I glared back, grew when I lost interest. There was shouting and a crash as a table was flung over the railings outside and hit the solid concrete four floors down. The orb's eye grew, as if in alarm, then it seemed to stretch till the orb was three times it's original size, with a kind of thick tail on one end. It slowly wriggled towards me and I rose my knees to my hips on the metal chain link bed, with its' thin mattress. It stopped at the base of his bed, its' eye now the size of his foot, the entire body the size of an adolescent panda. It raised its' 'head' with the speed of a sloth and became as still as an old oak tree. Patrick slowly clasped his hands around its' warm exterior and lifted it as if he were examining a newborn baby. It seemed to look inside Patrick, looked into his soul, then the eye closed and it shrunk to the size of an apple, it's tail disappearing into its' inky dark surface, the eye closing. Patrick put it back in his pocket where it belonged. Where it _belonged_.

Patrick's first confrontation with the enemy was one to haunt him forever, it was an embodiment of the name the aliens had given them; Chaos. He set out into Twickenham in Richmond, where they'd managed to contain some of the threat thus far. There were a few big schools nearby, and an active high street, with a wide, empty road. They disembarked off a military train at Twickenham station and sprinted up the stairways on either side. Five teams of six, each equipped with state of the art Swiss weaponry. Patrick ran the last few metres of the bridge walkway despite his heavy armour, and then successfully vaulted the barrier. They were very well disciplined, they first secured the station and a team set up defences there and stayed put in case they needed a quick getaway. The other four teams spread out. Patrick's team headed down one of the narrowest roads away from the main high street, securing and clearing large houses and newsagents along the way. Some people were even still living here despite the warnings to evacuate to the inner city. So far the loss of life was at 1,500,000 in the UK _alone. _They turned left onto a fairly long suburban stretch and spread out along the road. Fires crackled on either side and the sky was a dark, moody gray. There were bodies, but they were either dismembered or burnt unrecognizable, however, they were all clearlydamaged by the rocks and not the bastards themselves.

They reached a small junction where a separate road on the left curved round a corner. It didn't look promising; it was pitch black, fires roared in silence, broken furniture blocked it off; two houses had collapsed onto the road, covering the street in bricks, glass and tiles. Worse, they had found where all the bodies had gone. They were on sharpened wooden poles, wrapped around lampposts, some were hanging by their spinal cords, and others were still alive… Patrick couldn't stand it any longer; he bent over and heaved. He had never seen anything like that, not in the fatal shooting of his parents and younger sisters, not in the famous US prison massacre of 2014. They carried on and approached the school. This was worse; teenagers and adults had been flung over the railings, the gates had been decimated. We stooped over the wreckage of the wrecked iron gates and proceeded to enter the school through the once automatic double doors.

It was a mess, chairs were everywhere, some melted, others welded to unlikely surfaces, such as windows, there was a smell of burnt plastic and there was a rainbow coloured liquid all over the floor; petrol. We secured the huge school room by room; there were hundreds, as we continued down the infinite corridors towards our objective; the playing fields in a boxed off section of the school. It was unsafe to go round to the fences surrounding the field as the rocks were falling like rain and the area was being pounded by heavy mortar fire. There was a screech as a burning cultist with a huge meat cleaver leapt out of a room way down the corridor and flew straight through a plane glass window, it turned its head to spot us just as it passed through, a wretched expression on it's face as it went, its nose was huge, with boils and one nostril several times bigger than the other. Its mouth was tiny, clamped by its teeth, which hooked through its lips. Another followed, this one completely focussed on its _playmate, _large, tubby, with a gasmask and a spiky club on the end of a sleeve which looked like it belonged to a girl's dress, except the yellow flower patterns were now dark red and shredded.

_Poor taste anyway, _Patrick heard himself, and then scolded himself with some very rude words. They continued down the corridor at a quicker pace now, as the rooms got more and more grimy, burnt out and were filled with more meaningless symbols. No longer checking rooms, they reached the stairs and bounded up, now they were sprinting down a torn carpeted part of the school.

"Cover!" the sergeant roared as a couple dozen mutated humanoids surged towards them from round the corner. But there was no cover, so they ran, fortunately none of the creatures had projectile weapons. Once they reached the first corner and had but a bit of distance between them, they turned and faced them, rifles looking back at them. The devices in their earpieces were beeping fast; the distress beacon was nearby. They opened fire, shots raining down on their infected bodies, shredding them limb from limb, every shot had a target, was planned and hit its mark. They backed up quickly till they reached a junction, one corridor on either side, one behind us. Suddenly, there was a humungous crash as a meteor ricocheted through the school and slammed half a metre into the wall at the end of the corridor to our right, while the creatures continued to push forwards on their left, the rock shattered, peppering them with rocks, one shard shredding a marines' necks, killing him automatically. "Back up!" the British sergeant shouted in their ears amid the deafening RUT-RUT-RUT of the 5.56 rifles. They ran backwards, their feet pattering on the carpet. But behind them another swathe of rabid freaks bundled round a corner, tripping over each other, stray cleavers and maces decapitating mutants wherever a cultist wasn't careful. There were now hundreds of them, literally in such a large mound that their heads reached the ceilings. They closed in gradually, Patrick was sweating violently, and then he turned his head and in desperation kicked a classroom door open. "In here!" He roared over the gibbering mound of no-brainers. The squad rushed in and Patrick shut it behind them, pushing back against the swarm. The others rushed to grab a few tables and prop them against the door. Private Kelly scanned the room and spotted the group of youths in the corner, a mutilated soldier with a distress beacon beeping away in his chopped off hand, a dozen dead mutants lay dead in a circle around them. They quivered with fear, holding the deceased monsters' weapons; the ringleader pointed a chrome glock at the blue door, a determined look on his face. He had a long scar running down his face, one eye was scrunched up, his head was burned where there would be hair and his eyes were bleak; he looked like one of them.

"Finally!" cried one of the boys, who was carrying a metal softball bat, "We've been hiding here for hours."

"Give us a hand!" Patrick roared back, the door was heaving so much; the center of it was bulging inwards. Four of the young lads added their weight to the resistance. The man who was scanning crossed the room and smashed the window, below which, the side of the school next to the football grounds had collapsed, forming a makeshift stairway. Artillery shells slammed down outside ceaselessly, creating an earthquake, causing the school foundations to rumble.

"Climb out the window!" the sergeant roared. The squad rushed away from the door and through the window. There was a short moment of confusion from the crowd outside the door as they stopped pushing against the entire door but instead filed through the open doorway. Their numbers had grown considerably, so that when they moved, various mutants were pushed into and through the wall, creating holes, and finally made the wall collapse, causing the upper floor room to collapse too because of all the vibrations. Patrick slid down the crumbled tower and landed at the bottom, assisting the hooded teenagers. They ran as soon as they were down, stumbling as the shells exploded like C4 around them. The mutants were much slower out there, tripping and crying out in frustration, fighting through random blind fire. A shell landed in a house just behind the squad, causing a huge explosion, making glass and bricks fly everywhere. A chunk of concrete slammed into the back of their sergeant's head just as they had started to put some distance between them and the pursuing horde.

Patrick turned immediately when he heard the dull thunk of concrete colliding with flesh and bone. He almost slipped as he rushed to retrieve their squad leader and haul him over his shoulders before the creatures could devour him. The rest of the squad swore and opened fire, even utilising an under slung grenade launcher, causing a horrific gory explosion, which led to the front lines of the horde to cover their eyes and cough, slowing down enough so that the hundreds that were sprinting behind them crashed into them head on. With a hundred daemonic screams, the rush slowed to a snail pace train of confused, mangled cultists. The squad rounded the corner to the road that led to the high street; the gang of teenagers had already reached the station on the bridge and were vaulting the barricades; the guarding soldiers barely flinching, never taking their eyes off the sights on their mounted heavy machineguns. Their focussed gaze- albeit sweat drenched foreheads- turned to shock and fear as the horde rounded the corner after the fleeing squad, there were so many of them, at least two storey high, climbing over each other, the slow decimated by the strongest, causing them to fall to the bottom and get crushed, culminating in a mess of screams, crunching of bones and heavy footfalls.

Then the armed cultists reached the front of the group.

They opened fire; red lasers scorching Patrick's arms, missing by millimetres, thrown off because the enemy didn't have time to aim with the mad savages closing down upon them from behind. Instead they adopted the unreliable method of 'spray and pray.' This involved pointing the barrels in the general direction of the enemy, while full out sprinting despite their legs of molten lead, running through the pain. Eventually they scored a kill in the shape of one of the British soldiers; the thin beams of dark red light scorched through sinews and muscle structure, creating three small holes, two of which punctured his heart and left lung, they almost went all the way through, apart from the ribs which merely sizzled in the intense heat, causing bile to rise in Patrick's throat. He gagged and tears seeped out of his eyes, a voice in his head roared at him, tormented him, and called him a pathetic weakling. But then the bile disappeared, and then the voice became muffled to a strangled whisper. The slug in his pocket grew and encapsulated him in a membrane under his clothes, invisible to others, causing any shots that hit him to rebound back and shoot through the shooters' barrels, causing mini explosions, eliminating the threat. The membrane then withdrew back into his pocket and the thing concentrated on keeping him focussed. He was dumbstruck at first, then in his mind, grateful as he passed the unconscious sergeant over the barricade at the station, then vaulted it himself, allowing the heavy gunners to open fire. The gun shook a bit at first, then there was a muffled rattling inside as the first rounds entered the chamber, then the gun roared into life, like a lion breathing fire. Each bullet brought an enemy to its knees, the spray created a near impenetrable wall of lead. But it wasn't enough and all at once we were running again, the creatures snapping at our heels, pushing past each other to get a bite out of our meaty shoulders. The train started to leave and the onboard heavy machineguns roared into life. We jumped on as the train sped away down the tracks.

Patrick hauled himself through once they were well away from the station and slammed the door shut. The other squads sat in groups, slumped; humans hadn't experienced so much death in a warzone for decades. They sat in shock, in revulsion of the amount of people they had killed, because even though they were savages, they were all humans once. The sergeant was woken, at which point he screamed, hollow, scared screams, shouting "Blood, blood, blo-o-od." Tears welled in his eyes, parting on his stubble, everyone was afraid. The teenagers were shaken, frozen, they must have been in the school for hours, the dead soldier in the classroom must have protected them but got overwhelmed, before Patrick left he had made sure to grab the man's dog tags.

He opened his fist and stared at the name; L. Peterson, a US navy Seal symbol on the top right corner, a Jewish star on the bottom right. He promised himself that he would mention Peterson to his commanding officer when he returned to be debriefed. He tried to cast the memories of death from his mind as he put his hands together as if was praying and cried into them. Again, he forgot about the strange black creature in his pocket. He didn't have any friends in this unit, but the ones left, including the sergeant when he calmed down, went to sit next to him, somewhat protectively, as they knew the sergeant wouldn't be here if not for him. They say the friends they make in the army are the best friends you will ever make; the friends you make in the army are friends for life. But right now, Patrick only wanted to see Will.

Chapter Ten

The first stage of the invasion was quick, brutal, the death toll was well into its millions, and they were only just getting started. However, now that the Tau was here, the chaos forces were in for a bit of a surprise.

Bentu'vre and Duncan ascended the steady sloped of sand with deadly ease, they were just as fast in the deserts of Libya as they were in the cobbled streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. They were in a hotspot for meteor drops, all they had to do was place a beacon in the center of the drops and get the hell out of there. The US government had something special in mind, something they had only used twice in hostility, something they had anticipated throughout much of the 20th century, something that would show the enemy that they weren't quite as primitive as they thought they were… you'll see.

Once the pair reached the crest of the dune they stopped, lay flat on their bellies and Duncan produced a monocular from his kit. The terrain was flat from here on in, the previous dunes flattened by the force and regularity of the meteors. A few weeks ago, the dune would have dropped suddenly, with light gray rocks at the base of the cliff a hundred feet below. Now however, the flat desert was only 25 feet below since the sand had been distributed evenly over the space from the wind created by meteors burning through atmosphere. They had stopped falling as regularly two days beforehand, but a telescope had spotted an even larger cluster approaching at high speed from the direction of Mars.

The desert was covered in figures; dehydrated, dragging their limbs through the deep sand, many mounds of dead mutants with too much clothes, or too little which had resulted in fatal, agonising burns. Primitive walls of shattered meteor had been formed, many holes and crevices in the walls cramped with sheltering cultists. The heat seemed to drive the beast out of them as they strove for a breeze. Surprisingly, their were engineers down there; mutants with welding masks and blowtorches. Duncan used his skills of reasoning to estimate the amount of hostiles in the gorge below. "I'd say roughly 2,200 tangos, we're going have to use a flare… and we'll also need a getaway plan." Duncan shifted in the sand, trying to get into a comfortable position with his bag slung over his back, unbalancing him. He grunted with frustration and stowed the small, camouflaged device, "I prefer clearing buildings."

"Remain steadfast," Bentu'vre murmured, adjusting the scope on his rail rifle. The rail rifle was practically a handheld cannon/ sniper rifle. He had modified it specifically to leave no trail from the projectiles it fired, and to make nearly no noise whatsoever, in exchange for its armour piercing value; now it couldn't punch holes in jeeps anymore, only flak jackets. Each round was as valuable as a human sniper rifle, each owner of a rail rifle probably had a kill count of about three hundred individuals, and usually had disabled at least five vehicles in their life time with pure resourcefulness and tact. The owner was widely renowned in the fire caste as one of many legendary shooters, unmatched in most aspects, perfect accuracy, particularly a Shas'vre, especially one who refused a battle suit.

A freezing breeze washed through the gorge below, then rushed through Bentu'vre and Duncan, they winced but it wasn't something they hadn't experienced before; Duncan in the frozen wastes of Siberia and Greenland in winter, and Bentu'vre on the -60 degree nights on his home planet… and that was on a good day! The mutants on the other hand cried out in pain; they already hated this planet.

"You ready?" Duncan asked with a slight grin on his face, his trigger finger itchy.

Bentu'vre nodded, then they both rose to a crouched position and picked off the stragglers with unmatched ease, each shot entered their temples and cut off all feeling immediately, moving their barrels to combat the 18 mph winds. They rushed the camp, killing all who got in their way, both equally efficient with their ammunition and their combat knives; except Duncan's was short and had a practical serrated edge, while Bentu'vre's looked ceremonial and was long and sharp, meant for stabbing and lopping heads off with the ease of a samurai blade. Then, in the middle of their silent bloodbath, Duncan caught his battle brother's attention. A large figure was looming over a small group of cultists; the figure was at least 8" in height and almost half that in width due to heavy armour. The huge warrior was holding a huge sub machine gun; which looked more like a cannon sized heavy machine gun. It was holding its helmet by its side, which was horned and had both eye slits like an eagle, and a breathing grille that looked like a round triangle, which somehow made it look more terrifying. The monster the suit belonged to was wearing a sly grin, eyes red as a hot chilli shone like stars in the darkness. Bentu'vre stood still as a gargoyle, the monster stared back through the pitch-black darkness. The monster nodded at Duncan, with a sneer that made Bentu'vre furious suddenly. He roared at the monster, startling the cultists and charged him very unprofessionally, so Duncan did the only thing he could think of and grabbed him by the collar of his armour, stopping him in his tracks before he could do something stupid, he was sure the sword with spikes on its side in the monster's holster wasn't just for show. The monster laughed in a deep tone and said something in a foreign language, then put his helmet on. "You do not even know what you are dealing with, puny mortal," the creature sniggered, clearly enjoying the moment; keen to hear their last defiant line before their demise, they were always _so _creative! But Duncan did something that hadn't been done in thousands of years, something deemed punishable by death by the Imperium; it was the last thing he could think of doing, he pulled down his pants and stuck it in his direction, while flipping him off, then pulled them up and sprinted the other way with a confused Bentu'vre in pursuit. The monster stared after them for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened, and then roared with blinding fury and gave chase.

They swerved round walls of meteor rock and slumped low behind a mound of sand formed by a recent meteor. "What was that?" Bentu'vre demanded, shaking his head.

"Improvising," Duncan panted with a sly grin.

"Did you pinpoint the target?"

"Affirmative. "

"Where."

Duncan glanced with great embarrassment at the –flare in the middle of the camp; a quarter mile away. Bentu'vre swore in his native language. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes."

They stood still as statues for just a moment, eyes wide, then rocketed up the slope. The pursuing mutants cocked their heads at this sudden change of tactics, but thought little of it and gave followed them in their arrow straight path as far away from the clearing as possible.

Duncan's breathing was heavy, still moving at a flat out sprint to escape the impending doom that was to cover a ten-mile radius. They were not going to make it. "Dig!" Bentu'vre cried. They'd lost the mutants and dug like dogs; once they had a hole big enough, Bentu'vre extended a sheet of thick lead over the hole; used to defend against sandstorms, but should have the same effect on hydrogen bombs if in a sturdy position. There was a dull thump far away. Mutants stopped looking for them and ran screaming, then the loudest bang they had ever heard almost shattered their eardrums. The ground shook, as if they were being shaken by a giant which was using the earth as a colossal bowling ball, the lead sheet glowed white hot and melted the sand in contact with it. Duncan's skin, not used to temperatures so high ended up burying his face in Bentu'vre's arm; Bentu'vre didn't pull away. The deafening roar subsided and Bentu'vre used the butt of his gun to push the cover away, singeing the black paint in the process. Duncan squinted up at the night sky, coloured crimson, toxic smoke filled the air so Duncan wore his gas mask and Bentu'vre pulled on his helmet. Random fires burned, a mushroom cloud rose steadily into the air, such devastation, no matter the circumstances, was nothing to rejoice about. They turned around, and headed north.

It was a huge explosion, a signal to humanity on that terrible day; Monday, August 6, at 8:15 a.m., 1945, a similar, not quite so big bomb was dropped, paving the way to humanity's demise. It was a symbol that there would only be war and death, there would be no more peace; from that day forward, no one would be free again. Kergoth the Lord of Night watched the mushroom cloud grow from orbit, he was not shocked in any way, rather, this is what he had been waiting for, it was the signal that he should take things up a notch, the cultists were being pushed back, the enemy were adapting to them, using the right strategies to purge them in their thousands, then eject them into space via planes that flew just inside atmosphere. He turned and headed through an automatic door, which creaked and hissed as it opened, making a gouge in the floor deeper still. His footfalls were heavy, his armour creaked and motors controlling his blood flow spun like loose rotors on a helicopter, a bubble of septic flesh popped on his face, which he smacked with frustration; by praying to one God of truth, it seemed the others took notice too.

He turned and headed to the cargo bay, where clusters of cultists were being loaded into hundreds of small escape pods for atmosphere entry. He sauntered through a derelict part of the ship, a pair of doors were wide open and red light seeped out, as he passed, there was huge noise, his eardrums rattled, he felt his entire body shake and madness threatened his mind, then he passed and the noise went away.


	8. Chapter 8

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…

Chapter Three

All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.

The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.

Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.

Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, _Independence Day, _John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…

Chapter Four

A small explosion carried across the ship as the custodian began its entry sequence and slowed to manoeuvre around the planets and their rings. Many looked up from what they were doing, they were too fast to recognise what it was from, probably just some fuel going off.

Lots of calls, the chairman of NASA, and various professionals travelled thousands of miles to examine the footage of the alien ship destroying their 6 million euro invention. There was lots of controversy to whether this could have actually been an alien ship, some thought it was just an especially large rock, some explained that the engines on the back were just rocks burning in their own atmosphere. Either way, the site was surrounded by news companies and the leaders of the western world were already trying to think of a solution, it was no secret that they were trying to give Russia and the middle eastern countries as little involvement as possible, and while their governments continued their pathetic squabbles and grudges, the construct grew ever closer, last seen on the satellite monitoring Pluto, the thing was examined in detail and it was confirmed that they were dealing with 'people' from another world, far more advanced than their own… as expected, of course. The people of Earth absolutely loved the stereotype and many were ready to welcome the beings with open arms as long as they didn't go all 'Independence Day' on them. The religious leaders of the modern world said little but knew I their hearts that something would go wrong, when one dared to speak their thoughts, they were overflowed by a torrent of anger and frustration at their piousness, the general message was; "Why do you continue to reach of one God when there are obviously more powerful beings who would deny His existence too?" But it was almost as if the religious leaders all over the world were uniting so they could speak with one voice, the extremists stopped and watched with suspicious eyes, the atheists laughed at them and told them where to go, the agnostics watched them get at each others' necks and looked forward to the arrival of the foreigners so they could feel less lonely.

Chapter Five

The custodian loomed over the watery planet of Earth, two indigenous species held their breath as the huge ship circled, the fist scouts were sent from the ship to investigate the radio signals, pollution clouds and dense light formations.

"Drone 1 and Drone 2 are in the air," Commander Farsight announced in the intercom, "descending now, time to find out what we're dealing with."

The two remora drones swooped down at 1800 mph; each was the size of a small plane and had a pair of burst cannons on the joints of each wing. They were stealth fighter drones and also had a markerlight on each of them and a pair of seeker missiles; the burst cannons were like Gatling guns but fired pulse instead and at a slightly lower rate. The markerlights were target locators to allow anything connected to the same link to get a good fix on an individual target. They were smaller than jets, faster and just as well equipped, even better, they were unmanned.

Down on earth, NASA detected them on radio and swiftly sent a message in Morse code on all frequencies and two jets to guide the way to JFK airport.

"Two Armed vehicles approaching, advising countermeasures", one of the drone controllers shouted.

"No! Follow them, co-operate, we don't want to start the meeting of two races with a bang", Farsight said calmly, "and if they do decide to pull some dodgy manoeuvre, we've got devastating weapons that will blow them to smithereens. Now, have we got a successful match on the species?"

"No, sir, not yet…"

The two drone fighters' shot across the Atlantic Ocean accompanied by both jets, they were making good time, but NASA was wary of the weapons and their purpose on this particular mission. Some wanted to shoot down the drones, but that was quickly denied as they didn't want to-quote, start the meeting of two races with a bang, unquote. People watched the LIVE feed from both tinted window stealth bombers guided the drones to the coast, which was rapidly approaching.

"Confirmation made, species identified, we are in the early 3rd millennium." The head of the Bask'n water caste announced.

"33, 000 years before the existence of our race," Farsight murmured to himself.

"What species?"

"Human."

Farsight's breath caught in his throat, "What planet is this?"

"Earth, AKA, Terra."

The entire ship was dumbfounded as they let the news sink in, on the screens, the fighters took multiple photos of humans far below getting on with their daily lives.

"This is CNN, I am Natasha Robinson, on today's top story, two robotic constructs have left the ship hovering above our atmosphere and are currently being led to JFK airport. After 18 hours of discussion, the American president has decided to allow the Russian Prime Minister stay to greet the 'aliens'. As well as Vladimir Azarov, the Russian Prime Minister and Aaron Morales our President, leaders from all over the world including North Korea have come to greet our guests. Just three religious officials have decided to travel, one being a cardinal from the Vatican, one a Sikh official, and another a famous Jewish Rabbi.

"The welcoming ceremony will include the classic welcome that has been used in many films in the last century, the world's leaders will stand in a semicircle around the visitors, the religious leaders standing in front of their respective countries. There will be a screen in the center of the semicircle which will hopefully provide an accurate representation of our culture, if you have any suggestion please don't forget to tweet or visit our face book…"

Packie watched the screen from his cold, clammy cell, the door had been left open but a prison guard with an electric baton was stood opposite each door, making sure the prisoners leaning out didn't try anything funny. The screen sat on a shelf at the end of the corridor, it wasn't exactly a plasma screen, but it was big enough to get the general idea, the volume was at the max and everyone watched with bated breath, the prison guards were trained to show little emotion, but kept one eye on the screen. Packie leaned so far out the door he was nearly falling out; there came a few frustrated shouts for him to move his head, but in a lot more colourful language. Packie sighed and crouched low, a screwed up ball of paper hit him on his closely shaved scalp, there was a yelp as the thrower was kicked in the shin by a guard and led back into his cell, but he didn't care, the screen was too fuzzy to make anything out from that far away anyway.

Packie glanced back to the corner of his cell, wondering if the child-sized _thing_ was still there. It was a bloated, gurgling, green-brown ball of sludge with small arms and two rows of sharp teeth, Packie figured it was either a test of his will power, a prank set by the guards, or that he was still hallucinating when the police officer's knee rammed into his head back outside the garage the day he was caught two months ago. It didn't seem to be there. There was a roar of approval as the CNN reporter- who the boys thought was super hot stuff- Natasha Williams announced that the Jets had broken off and the aliens were coming in to the airport. We watched with bated breath…

Chapter Six

"Guide them in," Farsight whispered to the drone controllers, "land in the centre of the lights on the ground."

"Amongst the humans?" the drone controller responded uncertainly.

"Affirmative, it seems they have organized a welcome party," he added with a sly smile.

"Roger that," both controllers responded with sharp smiles at their one and only true commander's subtle humour. He rarely expressed such emotion, so they were keen to make the most of it.

Many engineers on the decks commented on the technology visible on the screens from the cameras mounted on the Remora drones.

"Ready a devilfish and my personal bodyguard," Farsight announced, "I want two water caste diplomats and I want my battle suit ready in the back."

Two pathfinders sprinted down the hallways to comply with his orders, they were very fast sprinters, everybody gave them a wide berth as they headed to the cargo bay…

Both Remora Drones hummed to a halt at heads height, the leaders of the world craned their heads to stare into the red lights situated on the markerlights on each drone, cameras, the Tau gasped when they saw them up close, the human race frowned, not sure of what to make of it. They waited. And waited. The leaders began to murmur amongst themselves, but then! A loud roaring of engines as Farsight's devilfish activated its safety procedures. The landing 'legs' extended and the engines on either side swivelled so they were facing upwards and the vents that allowed it to hover were facing down.

The devilfish tuned 180 degrees and before it had even touched down, the ramp swung open. Twelve fire warriors rushed out in full armour. The humans were ready for this though and there were a hundred clicks as safeties were turned off and guns were pointed. The fire warriors paid no attention though as the first helmetless Tau stepped off the transport to greet the humans. They lowered their weapons and created a wide berth for Farsight and the two ethereals…

President Aaron Morales gasped as he came face to face with twelve long, black rifles. Humanoids dressed in body armour trained their guns on them; the famous rabbi instinctively stepped forward to protect his 'foolish' companions. The large transport ship had already startled them, and he didn't feel any safer with the red dots darting on the aliens armour from the laser sights equipped to the USMC snipers' rifles on the building behind him. _Great start _he grumbled to himself, and his mouth screwed up slightly at the explosion of flavour when he accidentally bit too deep into his strong mint. He quickly recovered. Then the two men stepped out, accompanied by a huge robot the size of three men, a bulbous chest, a weapon on one arm, a strange disc on its shoulder and a sword on its other arm.

Everything was quiet, the CNN newsreaders watched, the prisoners at Shawshank state detention centre watched, the professors from the astrological centre in Utah watched from the glass windows in the airport, the world had come to a standstill. People gasped as the fist blue men came out. The huge robot hung back and the two Blue men, about the height of the president, at about six foot, stepped forward and held out their hands…

There was silence, then the Russian Prime minister cleared his throat and stepped forwards to take the alien's hand, but the American President saw what was about to happen and got there first, subtly nudging the temporary 'ally' out of the way. The Tau frowned at this, but smoothly took the President's hand one by one, then shook the Russian's. The American was beaming, but the Tau could see it was very forced, for the news camera traversing the Tau transport behind, and for the news helicopter above.

The President nodded to one of his bodyguards, who pressed a button on the side of the large plasma screen television. To their dismay, the aliens looked fairly bored as they watched the video in total silence, absorbing the culture of this common foe, and the language. In their earpieces, the Tau ethereals were given a stream of Earth words to process, it was their talent to learn languages quickly for emergency communication with foreign peoples. The humans waited as the ethereals talked in their own strange, guttural language with far too many syllables to understand or even get a hint of what they were talking about. Then the ethereal cleared his throat and opted for a human greeting to put them at ease. "How do you do?" He croaked, his voice was hardly perfect and he said it far too quickly for casual conversation. The humans relaxed slightly and one leader chuckled quietly at the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

They then went round greeting each other, the huge robot staying still.

Farsight watched the commotion, studied their faces, spotted three humans studying him more suspiciously than others, their clothes reminded him of the ethereals but it was plain to see by the way they occasionally glared at each other that they were minor leaders of very different religions. Religion. That was the thing that would separate them.

The three leaders stepped forwards to study the robot, eyeing it suspiciously, the ethereals glanced uneasily at them and Farsight's bodyguard stepped in front of the religious Zealots to intercept them. "Allow us to introduce our founding leader." An ethereal announced. "Commander Farsight, overall war commander."

The body of the suit opened to reveal Farsight in a sitting position, dressed head to toe in extra battle armour, many markings on his face. He studied the humans without the aided vision of the battle-suit. Ministers of defence sized him up, then after a long pause the talks began.

Chapter Seven

A warp rift opened on the edge of the solar system, from earth it would take a day for it to be seen, but from Pluto the sight would have made any mortal go insane from the sight and the noise, which was like a club with the volume turned up LOUD, even from a thousand miles away. The fabric of reality rippled then tore apart, a lime green hole forced its way through the darkness and through it five or six huge living ships were launched through, and through the chunk of rock from one end to another. The immense pressure was way too much for the pathetic excuse for a planet, it was sucked halfway in and when it closed, the rift cut it in two, launching the surviving piece deep into the solar system so that two weeks later, after sling shooting around two or three planets, it would smash into the molten gas of the sun and cause a huge wave of heat to roar out in the direction of earth.

The sky went black as night, for the tiny organisms on the heat bathed surface of Venus, the sudden cold froze many scaly bacteria in place, the largest beings, small dust ridden spiders that fed on random deposits of hydrogen in the air wherever it could find them took the brunt of the change and let loose squeaks of pain at less that 0.001 hertz, chaos tentacles reached out and enslaved the organisms, already feeding off their supplies of life and supplying the ships with a source of fuel, within just ten minutes, the entire planet was covered in a cloud of rage, bacteria fought among themselves, ripped each other apart, the death rate rose incredulously, but not noticeably to human speculation, besides, theories of life on Venus had long since been abandoned. The whole planet was permanently redder, like a chilli ready to erupt in flames, the temperature rose exponentially and pockets of air exploded, destroying any neighbouring objects, including the SS Shame XI, a Mexican satellite launched just two months previously…

Within the first few weeks, the Tau had settled their ships in the desert in North Africa, integrated into society in different major cities all over the world. Their policies were not entirely approved of by the west so they based themselves mainly in Asia. The human governments seemed interested in involving them in their own disputes once they'd seen the practical demonstration of their weapons. The Tau soon realized that many of the white men were power hungry and the rest were either religious zealots or brutal dictators. When religious leaders preached that the guests were demons, the Tau certainly did not respond kindly, they fought back with accusatory words, hundreds of warriors cheered for the ethereal speakers and called for the execution of their pious hosts. Within a few weeks, they became a very controversial issue, many religious leaders called it a sign that judgement day was near, the ones who were not god fearing, or not _deluded,_ as the ethereals liked to phrase it, called it a wake up call from an ignorant society of optimists and idealists, ideas which were banned long ago in Tau society, all ideas but the Greater Good had been banned, only one idea would survive, introduce two or even more and there will only be war.

The blistering hadn't subsided, my entire arm was covered in cracked, swollen skin, the prison doctor told me to rub cold water on every half hour and apply cream at least four times a day, but I think he just wanted me to think I was going to get better, I saw the look of dismay when he saw it, as if it wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He examined it under a magnifying glass with a furrowed brow the depth of the Grand Canyon. He shook his head and prescribed me some kind of treatment for burns, didn't say anything about blisters on it. The inmates were acting weird too; I sat with three mates, huddled in a corner, while others stared at us with dead gazes, we decided then and there to apply for the military and as we dispersed, I showed myself to my cell while the guard stood by the corridor, staring dumbly into the barrel of his rifle, what was funny was that no-one took advantage of the situation, it was just too creepy.

17th May 2015, the same day the US withdrew all it's troops from abroad, Patrick decided to join the corps for the rest of his sentence, he was bored and desperately needed to be active, plus he was afraid the other inmates might turn on him at just a moments' notice, little did he know that he's be there for longer than a year, and little did the officers know that the skinny, rebellious ruffian would become a renowned war hero in the epidemic war to come.

Chapter Eight

Farsight stared across the cabinet at the members of the United Nations, flanked by two Honour Guards who had refused to relinquish their weapons on entry and stood guarding their leader. "The signs are clear", Farsight announced, "the enemy we fled from has followed us, for that, humans, I am sorry, I advise you gather your armies and prepare for total war."

"Hold up, you mean to say you brought an enemy to our planet," said the secretary of defence for the united states of America indignantly, and forgive me for saying so, but we've seen your technology and seen what it can do, so if you were running from this enemy of yours, doesn't that mean the enemy must be stronger, and if so, than how are we supposed to stop it?"

"Excuse me," the Spokesperson for the secretary of Foreign Affairs for The Russian Federation, "maybe we ought to let him speak."

"Oh for god sakes! This is not the time to start picking sides again, _Russia!_" the President of the US, Aaron Morales, re-elected because of his policies to ensure that all Americans keep all their rights, even in the presence of the visitors. "Wake up and smell the bacon! We should send them away and if their _enemy_ comes here, we should discuss peaceful negotia—"

"NO!" Farsight roared at the top of his lungs, which was about as loud as a rocket propelled grenade exploding on a slab of metal, the entire board jumped up in fright, he slammed his fists on the table and explained in a raised voice, "This enemy can not negotiated with, it can not be defeated in an arms race or a war of attrition, they are like the Al-Qaeda you face even today, they are like a disease, you need to destroy every last molecule before the death will stop, they can not be reasoned with, they reach out with long arms and grab everything within reach, and when they grab hold, they do not let go till everyone is DEAD AND ROTTING in the cusps of their hands! If we leave you WILL be doomed!"

The President gathered himself and spoke, "And if you stay?"

"You will _probably_ be doomed."

"Well isn't that reassuring", the Irish prime minister scoffed with a tired expression and drooped eyes.

Farsight stood and began to stride round the high roofed room, the Tau believe in the Greater Good", he began, "and we believe this is achieved by allying ourselves with any who might see the good in our aspirations, that is how we have always done it and it has worked damned well so far."

He continued round the semicircle, ascending the stairs till, he reached the members of the British Ministry of Defence, "We will fall in with your troops and utilize each others' skills to crush this enemy of superior strength."

"If I may interrupt you," exclaimed the US secretary of defence, "Several weeks ago, the United Nations was informed that the outlying rock, commonly referred to as a small planet; Pluto went off the map. Last Tuesday so did the rest of the solar system except from our neighbourhood sun. We managed to recover this video of the disappearance of Venus in progress." He turned and pressed a small blue button on his desk. The projector overhead whirred and the room turned to face the image at the front. What they saw was a sequence of unbelievable events, supernatural, impossible; a vast colony of ships leaking black smoke and dripping blood. It was a sped up progress, each second, half an hour passed, Venus turned as red as a tomato, moist, no longer solid, like a water balloon, then it burst from one side and turned black and wrinkled as blood poured in impossible amounts from the gigantic rift in the planets' base, it then shrivelled up and exploded like a watermelon, vast fragments of rock, bone and rock.

"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we now have not only a terrifying enemy to fight, but all space flights will now be all but impossible, what with the vast asteroid fields now covering our once peaceful solar system. How are we supposed to defeat such an enemy?"

"Through attrition," Farsight shot back, "our enemy feeds on death, hopelessness and loss, if we can hold out for enough time, the tide will turn…"

The meeting carried on at this pace throughout the night, an endless volley of opposite views, using each other's comebacks as ammunition.

Patrick's first week in the army was brutal, nothing he had expected, a number of Russian and British commanders had travelled to the US to teach them how to be the ultimate soldiers, with the threat of a large scale war ever present. His running skills were invaluable, but his mind was always elsewhere. _Not everyone's cut out to be a soldier _said the voice in his head. Patrick told it to shut up. His friends were always distracted. They had gone to train in Alaska where the temperatures were sub-zero and everything that wasn't covered in three layers of wool fell off. Morale was low, too law for new recruits, suicide was apparent. Patrick played poker with his new friends, normally it was banned, but now even the generals played it as an excuse to 'hone their minds'. Time moved so slowly; it was as if the cold had frozen everything. One morning Patrick awoke early and went outside to puff on a cigarette. The sky was dark as night even though it was eight in the morning. His hands shook and sweat froze as though they were freezing needles on his skin. A mound of snow weighed down the tent behind him. Across the camp, one musician was playing a lone violin; the sound reminded him of his old Xbox games set in WW2 about defiant Russians in the winter cold. He barely acknowledged those parts, thought they were stupid, that they wouldn't have time for such nonsense, that they should be killing people all the time. So naïve. The ground had faint tracks on it from the odd cargo truck packed with frozen goods; frozen vegetables, frozen meat, frozen guns. Another truck turned in about a hundred metres away on Patrick's left. The headlights were like exploding stars in the endless night, they cast welcome heat on Patrick's cheeks and the sound of the rumbling engine was a relief in the frustrating silence of the random icy plane, in the middle of nowhere. He found himself staring at the truck's tyres as it passed. In its' place in front of him, once it had turned the corner towards the canteen, there was a perfectly round stone, like endless black against the perfect white snow, it had no solid edges, it was perfectly round, it was an eye, was Patrick's conclusion, though when he felt it he knew no eye that was as hard as this, it was strangely warm and he felt his blood running in his feet again. He decided he would show it to his friends when they awoke and he started inside. He almost made it; as he turned the stone eye over in his hands, and a long oval of white, as clear as the snow around the orb appeared. It moved across the stones' surface with a strange serenity under Patrick's palm and seemed to _see _him,then the eye closed until it was just a black stone again and slid into his now warm pocket and stayed there.

It took some time for the Tau to integrate with human forces but soon they were covering each others' backs as they raided houses, secured objectives and fought the now decreasing numbers of rebels that threatened civilisation; they seemed to have been caught off guard and were retreating into their until it all finished when they could tell the world they had all been hallucinating and that they were the real rulers. They now experimented with popular culture such as music and video games and explored the virtues of human life, discovered their values, such as respect, love and achievement and mocked their disparity in the face of impossible odds, boasting to the humans of their incredible prowess in battle, causing various scuffles and a few fists to fly, to the surprise of the Tau who didn't expect them to have such a capacity for violence in this early stage of their existence. They were astounded by their charities and sometimes selfless careers, envious of the level of empathy they could feel, they experimented with religion and faiths, interested in the similarities and differences between their many current gods and their one future god.

They wondered why they were not all regarded as equals, how some lived in absolute poverty and others lived in huge mansions surrounded by precious metals and arrogant servants, they developed a basic trust with the lower class of the world and expressed their feelings frankly to the rich who refused to give to the poor, harassing them and asking rather rudely if they were a different species than the humans that believed in charitable giving and had such big hearts, filled with empathy. They argued against such saving graces as the bill of rights and laws which allowed larger holidays, or bigger salaries than others, and they praised successful communist states such as Cuba, but criticised North Korea for forgetting about it's population, who retaliated by threatening to send a nuclear bomb their way, causing a very heated feud. A lot of death threats and insults followed, mainly criticising how close minded the North Koreans were, which the Koreans twisted and fed to its' population as praise for their _beautiful, joyous_ state. On this matter all of humanity had the Tau's backing.

One such army base in southern Pakistan was a perfect example of this unity; a team of pathfinders had integrated with a British SAS squad; two perfect killing machines in one place, they were very much the same, they felt as important as each other, they worked with the same efficiency, the same speed, confrontations with Islamic extremist groups were not so much a challenge as a competitive game to take out the enemy first. But despite their snobbish nature, they were both very serious when it came to the fight and forgot about their petty differences with regular soldiers. The SAS squad leader's name was Duncan Stuart, the Tau Shas'vre, an individual who declined the chance to fight in a colossal battle suit when he was promoted more than five years ago, was called Bentu'vre, as he was wise and experienced, and Vre was his rank. "What is it like where you're from?" Asked the 40 year old Duncan in one of his rare conversations with Bentu'vre, who was 60 years old himself, 20 years older than the average Tau lifespan, but somehow hadn't lost any of his youthful virtues.

"Our world varies like yours does. Where we are based the land is hilly, with grass and mountains, elsewhere the ground is as dry as a lizards skin. Foul alien spores corrupt some areas; others are dotted with tombs here and there to compensate for sleeping machines. It is not a pleasant land, every day our defences are assaulted by hordes of creatures, every day thousands die on either side, which is nothing compared to the losses outside." He spoke with little emotion, but stared at his knees. Duncan dared to ask, "and outside?"

"Death, only death, there are tales of a human world upon which trillions die upon every year."

Duncan could barely believe it, but didn't want to argue so he left it at that.

Chapter Nine

They weren't ready, not ready for the ferocity of the first attacks, their troops weren't dispersed enough, there were not enough to cover the globe as the first rocks from destroyed planets fell, they were in fact cocoons for the enemy troops; cultists from 38,000 years in the future, savage, with small rifles that shot small rapid bursts of laser. What was most disturbing was that they were all human at some point, but their bodies had been ravaged by chaos, it took the earthlings too long to comprehend the enemy they were facing before they were overwhelmed.

North Korea, Pyongyang, in one of their artificial districts, littered with plain-faced individuals who were not allowed to speak for themselves and had seen nothing of the outside world. They looked up as they heard the faint roaring of the rock hurtling through the atmosphere, some pointed, others tried to continue as if nothing had happened, constantly afraid of the oppressive government. The roaring became unbearable, then rock smashed into the ground, not causing a crater nut instead shattering, impaling a number of people and leaving forks of rock stuck in the tarmac. Bayonets and flashes of light quickly cut down the rest. Later that day, North Korea appealed for help and for the first time in many, many years, foreign soldiers were allowed to cross the border into the world's biggest prison.

The entire world was panicking, riots were amok, martial law was in effect in most states, and the apocalypse was being preached in dozens of pious countries. Patrick had been moved to one of the worlds' most important assets, which was currently under siege by thousands of crazy cultists; London, England.

Patrick rose to attention as the officer in charge spilled out orders in a thick south London accent, barely decipherable. His insults when used against unruly marines were downright hilarious, words like "Knobber!" and "Bell end!" The English truly were terrible at insults. However he never went psycho with us, he stood his ground and looked us straight in the eyes, while he broke us down mentally. He was a prick, but we held a special kind of respect just for him, the kind that involved 'friendly' jives and pouring cans of beer over his head at two in the morning, rewarding us with two hundred push ups, while he went round and stood on each of the culprits' backs in turn. But it was all morale lifting stuff, no hard feelings.

The next morning, I woke in my small room. We were based in a prison, in cells with unlocked doors, I shared with two guys and they were quite spacious, which counted for nothing when you had nothing but plain grey walls to stare at if you couldn't sleep. In the corner was the small black orb. I had forgotten about it. It's eye hovered over me, staring, shrunk away when I glared back, grew when I lost interest. There was shouting and a crash as a table was flung over the railings outside and hit the solid concrete four floors down. The orb's eye grew, as if in alarm, then it seemed to stretch till the orb was three times it's original size, with a kind of thick tail on one end. It slowly wriggled towards me and I rose my knees to my hips on the metal chain link bed, with its' thin mattress. It stopped at the base of his bed, its' eye now the size of his foot, the entire body the size of an adolescent panda. It raised its' 'head' with the speed of a sloth and became as still as an old oak tree. Patrick slowly clasped his hands around its' warm exterior and lifted it as if he were examining a newborn baby. It seemed to look inside Patrick, looked into his soul, then the eye closed and it shrunk to the size of an apple, it's tail disappearing into its' inky dark surface, the eye closing. Patrick put it back in his pocket where it belonged. Where it _belonged_.

Patrick's first confrontation with the enemy was one to haunt him forever, it was an embodiment of the name the aliens had given them; Chaos. He set out into Twickenham in Richmond, where they'd managed to contain some of the threat thus far. There were a few big schools nearby, and an active high street, with a wide, empty road. They disembarked off a military train at Twickenham station and sprinted up the stairways on either side. Five teams of six, each equipped with state of the art Swiss weaponry. Patrick ran the last few metres of the bridge walkway despite his heavy armour, and then successfully vaulted the barrier. They were very well disciplined, they first secured the station and a team set up defences there and stayed put in case they needed a quick getaway. The other four teams spread out. Patrick's team headed down one of the narrowest roads away from the main high street, securing and clearing large houses and newsagents along the way. Some people were even still living here despite the warnings to evacuate to the inner city. So far the loss of life was at 1,500,000 in the UK _alone. _They turned left onto a fairly long suburban stretch and spread out along the road. Fires crackled on either side and the sky was a dark, moody gray. There were bodies, but they were either dismembered or burnt unrecognizable, however, they were all clearlydamaged by the rocks and not the bastards themselves.

They reached a small junction where a separate road on the left curved round a corner. It didn't look promising; it was pitch black, fires roared in silence, broken furniture blocked it off; two houses had collapsed onto the road, covering the street in bricks, glass and tiles. Worse, they had found where all the bodies had gone. They were on sharpened wooden poles, wrapped around lampposts, some were hanging by their spinal cords, and others were still alive… Patrick couldn't stand it any longer; he bent over and heaved. He had never seen anything like that, not in the fatal shooting of his parents and younger sisters, not in the famous US prison massacre of 2014. They carried on and approached the school. This was worse; teenagers and adults had been flung over the railings, the gates had been decimated. We stooped over the wreckage of the wrecked iron gates and proceeded to enter the school through the once automatic double doors.

It was a mess, chairs were everywhere, some melted, others welded to unlikely surfaces, such as windows, there was a smell of burnt plastic and there was a rainbow coloured liquid all over the floor; petrol. We secured the huge school room by room; there were hundreds, as we continued down the infinite corridors towards our objective; the playing fields in a boxed off section of the school. It was unsafe to go round to the fences surrounding the field as the rocks were falling like rain and the area was being pounded by heavy mortar fire. There was a screech as a burning cultist with a huge meat cleaver leapt out of a room way down the corridor and flew straight through a plane glass window, it turned its head to spot us just as it passed through, a wretched expression on it's face as it went, its nose was huge, with boils and one nostril several times bigger than the other. Its mouth was tiny, clamped by its teeth, which hooked through its lips. Another followed, this one completely focussed on its _playmate, _large, tubby, with a gasmask and a spiky club on the end of a sleeve which looked like it belonged to a girl's dress, except the yellow flower patterns were now dark red and shredded.

_Poor taste anyway, _Patrick heard himself, and then scolded himself with some very rude words. They continued down the corridor at a quicker pace now, as the rooms got more and more grimy, burnt out and were filled with more meaningless symbols. No longer checking rooms, they reached the stairs and bounded up, now they were sprinting down a torn carpeted part of the school.

"Cover!" the sergeant roared as a couple dozen mutated humanoids surged towards them from round the corner. But there was no cover, so they ran, fortunately none of the creatures had projectile weapons. Once they reached the first corner and had but a bit of distance between them, they turned and faced them, rifles looking back at them. The devices in their earpieces were beeping fast; the distress beacon was nearby. They opened fire, shots raining down on their infected bodies, shredding them limb from limb, every shot had a target, was planned and hit its mark. They backed up quickly till they reached a junction, one corridor on either side, one behind us. Suddenly, there was a humungous crash as a meteor ricocheted through the school and slammed half a metre into the wall at the end of the corridor to our right, while the creatures continued to push forwards on their left, the rock shattered, peppering them with rocks, one shard shredding a marines' necks, killing him automatically. "Back up!" the British sergeant shouted in their ears amid the deafening RUT-RUT-RUT of the 5.56 rifles. They ran backwards, their feet pattering on the carpet. But behind them another swathe of rabid freaks bundled round a corner, tripping over each other, stray cleavers and maces decapitating mutants wherever a cultist wasn't careful. There were now hundreds of them, literally in such a large mound that their heads reached the ceilings. They closed in gradually, Patrick was sweating violently, and then he turned his head and in desperation kicked a classroom door open. "In here!" He roared over the gibbering mound of no-brainers. The squad rushed in and Patrick shut it behind them, pushing back against the swarm. The others rushed to grab a few tables and prop them against the door. Private Kelly scanned the room and spotted the group of youths in the corner, a mutilated soldier with a distress beacon beeping away in his chopped off hand, a dozen dead mutants lay dead in a circle around them. They quivered with fear, holding the deceased monsters' weapons; the ringleader pointed a chrome glock at the blue door, a determined look on his face. He had a long scar running down his face, one eye was scrunched up, his head was burned where there would be hair and his eyes were bleak; he looked like one of them.

"Finally!" cried one of the boys, who was carrying a metal softball bat, "We've been hiding here for hours."

"Give us a hand!" Patrick roared back, the door was heaving so much; the center of it was bulging inwards. Four of the young lads added their weight to the resistance. The man who was scanning crossed the room and smashed the window, below which, the side of the school next to the football grounds had collapsed, forming a makeshift stairway. Artillery shells slammed down outside ceaselessly, creating an earthquake, causing the school foundations to rumble.

"Climb out the window!" the sergeant roared. The squad rushed away from the door and through the window. There was a short moment of confusion from the crowd outside the door as they stopped pushing against the entire door but instead filed through the open doorway. Their numbers had grown considerably, so that when they moved, various mutants were pushed into and through the wall, creating holes, and finally made the wall collapse, causing the upper floor room to collapse too because of all the vibrations. Patrick slid down the crumbled tower and landed at the bottom, assisting the hooded teenagers. They ran as soon as they were down, stumbling as the shells exploded like C4 around them. The mutants were much slower out there, tripping and crying out in frustration, fighting through random blind fire. A shell landed in a house just behind the squad, causing a huge explosion, making glass and bricks fly everywhere. A chunk of concrete slammed into the back of their sergeant's head just as they had started to put some distance between them and the pursuing horde.

Patrick turned immediately when he heard the dull thunk of concrete colliding with flesh and bone. He almost slipped as he rushed to retrieve their squad leader and haul him over his shoulders before the creatures could devour him. The rest of the squad swore and opened fire, even utilising an under slung grenade launcher, causing a horrific gory explosion, which led to the front lines of the horde to cover their eyes and cough, slowing down enough so that the hundreds that were sprinting behind them crashed into them head on. With a hundred daemonic screams, the rush slowed to a snail pace train of confused, mangled cultists. The squad rounded the corner to the road that led to the high street; the gang of teenagers had already reached the station on the bridge and were vaulting the barricades; the guarding soldiers barely flinching, never taking their eyes off the sights on their mounted heavy machineguns. Their focussed gaze- albeit sweat drenched foreheads- turned to shock and fear as the horde rounded the corner after the fleeing squad, there were so many of them, at least two storey high, climbing over each other, the slow decimated by the strongest, causing them to fall to the bottom and get crushed, culminating in a mess of screams, crunching of bones and heavy footfalls.

Then the armed cultists reached the front of the group.

They opened fire; red lasers scorching Patrick's arms, missing by millimetres, thrown off because the enemy didn't have time to aim with the mad savages closing down upon them from behind. Instead they adopted the unreliable method of 'spray and pray.' This involved pointing the barrels in the general direction of the enemy, while full out sprinting despite their legs of molten lead, running through the pain. Eventually they scored a kill in the shape of one of the British soldiers; the thin beams of dark red light scorched through sinews and muscle structure, creating three small holes, two of which punctured his heart and left lung, they almost went all the way through, apart from the ribs which merely sizzled in the intense heat, causing bile to rise in Patrick's throat. He gagged and tears seeped out of his eyes, a voice in his head roared at him, tormented him, and called him a pathetic weakling. But then the bile disappeared, and then the voice became muffled to a strangled whisper. The slug in his pocket grew and encapsulated him in a membrane under his clothes, invisible to others, causing any shots that hit him to rebound back and shoot through the shooters' barrels, causing mini explosions, eliminating the threat. The membrane then withdrew back into his pocket and the thing concentrated on keeping him focussed. He was dumbstruck at first, then in his mind, grateful as he passed the unconscious sergeant over the barricade at the station, then vaulted it himself, allowing the heavy gunners to open fire. The gun shook a bit at first, then there was a muffled rattling inside as the first rounds entered the chamber, then the gun roared into life, like a lion breathing fire. Each bullet brought an enemy to its knees, the spray created a near impenetrable wall of lead. But it wasn't enough and all at once we were running again, the creatures snapping at our heels, pushing past each other to get a bite out of our meaty shoulders. The train started to leave and the onboard heavy machineguns roared into life. We jumped on as the train sped away down the tracks.

Patrick hauled himself through once they were well away from the station and slammed the door shut. The other squads sat in groups, slumped; humans hadn't experienced so much death in a warzone for decades. They sat in shock, in revulsion of the amount of people they had killed, because even though they were savages, they were all humans once. The sergeant was woken, at which point he screamed, hollow, scared screams, shouting "Blood, blood, blo-o-od." Tears welled in his eyes, parting on his stubble, everyone was afraid. The teenagers were shaken, frozen, they must have been in the school for hours, the dead soldier in the classroom must have protected them but got overwhelmed, before Patrick left he had made sure to grab the man's dog tags.

He opened his fist and stared at the name; L. Peterson, a US navy Seal symbol on the top right corner, a Jewish star on the bottom right. He promised himself that he would mention Peterson to his commanding officer when he returned to be debriefed. He tried to cast the memories of death from his mind as he put his hands together as if was praying and cried into them. Again, he forgot about the strange black creature in his pocket. He didn't have any friends in this unit, but the ones left, including the sergeant when he calmed down, went to sit next to him, somewhat protectively, as they knew the sergeant wouldn't be here if not for him. They say the friends they make in the army are the best friends you will ever make; the friends you make in the army are friends for life. But right now, Patrick only wanted to see Will.

Chapter Ten

The first stage of the invasion was quick, brutal, the death toll was well into its millions, and they were only just getting started. However, now that the Tau was here, the chaos forces were in for a bit of a surprise.

Bentu'vre and Duncan ascended the steady sloped of sand with deadly ease, they were just as fast in the deserts of Libya as they were in the cobbled streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. They were in a hotspot for meteor drops, all they had to do was place a beacon in the center of the drops and get the hell out of there. The US government had something special in mind, something they had only used twice in hostility, something they had anticipated throughout much of the 20th century, something that would show the enemy that they weren't quite as primitive as they thought they were… you'll see.

Once the pair reached the crest of the dune they stopped, lay flat on their bellies and Duncan produced a monocular from his kit. The terrain was flat from here on in, the previous dunes flattened by the force and regularity of the meteors. A few weeks ago, the dune would have dropped suddenly, with light gray rocks at the base of the cliff a hundred feet below. Now however, the flat desert was only 25 feet below since the sand had been distributed evenly over the space from the wind created by meteors burning through atmosphere. They had stopped falling as regularly two days beforehand, but a telescope had spotted an even larger cluster approaching at high speed from the direction of Mars.

The desert was covered in figures; dehydrated, dragging their limbs through the deep sand, many mounds of dead mutants with too much clothes, or too little which had resulted in fatal, agonising burns. Primitive walls of shattered meteor had been formed, many holes and crevices in the walls cramped with sheltering cultists. The heat seemed to drive the beast out of them as they strove for a breeze. Surprisingly, their were engineers down there; mutants with welding masks and blowtorches. Duncan used his skills of reasoning to estimate the amount of hostiles in the gorge below. "I'd say roughly 2,200 tangos, we're going have to use a flare… and we'll also need a getaway plan." Duncan shifted in the sand, trying to get into a comfortable position with his bag slung over his back, unbalancing him. He grunted with frustration and stowed the small, camouflaged device, "I prefer clearing buildings."

"Remain steadfast," Bentu'vre murmured, adjusting the scope on his rail rifle. The rail rifle was practically a handheld cannon/ sniper rifle. He had modified it specifically to leave no trail from the projectiles it fired, and to make nearly no noise whatsoever, in exchange for its armour piercing value; now it couldn't punch holes in jeeps anymore, only flak jackets. Each round was as valuable as a human sniper rifle, each owner of a rail rifle probably had a kill count of about three hundred individuals, and usually had disabled at least five vehicles in their life time with pure resourcefulness and tact. The owner was widely renowned in the fire caste as one of many legendary shooters, unmatched in most aspects, perfect accuracy, particularly a Shas'vre, especially one who refused a battle suit.

A freezing breeze washed through the gorge below, then rushed through Bentu'vre and Duncan, they winced but it wasn't something they hadn't experienced before; Duncan in the frozen wastes of Siberia and Greenland in winter, and Bentu'vre on the -60 degree nights on his home planet… and that was on a good day! The mutants on the other hand cried out in pain; they already hated this planet.

"You ready?" Duncan asked with a slight grin on his face, his trigger finger itchy.

Bentu'vre nodded, then they both rose to a crouched position and picked off the stragglers with unmatched ease, each shot entered their temples and cut off all feeling immediately, moving their barrels to combat the 18 mph winds. They rushed the camp, killing all who got in their way, both equally efficient with their ammunition and their combat knives; except Duncan's was short and had a practical serrated edge, while Bentu'vre's looked ceremonial and was long and sharp, meant for stabbing and lopping heads off with the ease of a samurai blade. Then, in the middle of their silent bloodbath, Duncan caught his battle brother's attention. A large figure was looming over a small group of cultists; the figure was at least 8" in height and almost half that in width due to heavy armour. The huge warrior was holding a huge sub machine gun; which looked more like a cannon sized heavy machine gun. It was holding its helmet by its side, which was horned and had both eye slits like an eagle, and a breathing grille that looked like a round triangle, which somehow made it look more terrifying. The monster the suit belonged to was wearing a sly grin, eyes red as a hot chilli shone like stars in the darkness. Bentu'vre stood still as a gargoyle, the monster stared back through the pitch-black darkness. The monster nodded at Duncan, with a sneer that made Bentu'vre furious suddenly. He roared at the monster, startling the cultists and charged him very unprofessionally, so Duncan did the only thing he could think of and grabbed him by the collar of his armour, stopping him in his tracks before he could do something stupid, he was sure the sword with spikes on its side in the monster's holster wasn't just for show. The monster laughed in a deep tone and said something in a foreign language, then put his helmet on. "You do not even know what you are dealing with, puny mortal," the creature sniggered, clearly enjoying the moment; keen to hear their last defiant line before their demise, they were always _so _creative! But Duncan did something that hadn't been done in thousands of years, something deemed punishable by death by the Imperium; it was the last thing he could think of doing, he pulled down his pants and stuck it in his direction, while flipping him off, then pulled them up and sprinted the other way with a confused Bentu'vre in pursuit. The monster stared after them for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened, and then roared with blinding fury and gave chase.

They swerved round walls of meteor rock and slumped low behind a mound of sand formed by a recent meteor. "What was that?" Bentu'vre demanded, shaking his head.

"Improvising," Duncan panted with a sly grin.

"Did you pinpoint the target?"

"Affirmative. "

"Where."

Duncan glanced with great embarrassment at the –flare in the middle of the camp; a quarter mile away. Bentu'vre swore in his native language. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes."

They stood still as statues for just a moment, eyes wide, then rocketed up the slope. The pursuing mutants cocked their heads at this sudden change of tactics, but thought little of it and gave followed them in their arrow straight path as far away from the clearing as possible.

Duncan's breathing was heavy, still moving at a flat out sprint to escape the impending doom that was to cover a ten-mile radius. They were not going to make it. "Dig!" Bentu'vre cried. They'd lost the mutants and dug like dogs; once they had a hole big enough, Bentu'vre extended a sheet of thick lead over the hole; used to defend against sandstorms, but should have the same effect on hydrogen bombs if in a sturdy position. There was a dull thump far away. Mutants stopped looking for them and ran screaming, then the loudest bang they had ever heard almost shattered their eardrums. The ground shook, as if they were being shaken by a giant which was using the earth as a colossal bowling ball, the lead sheet glowed white hot and melted the sand in contact with it. Duncan's skin, not used to temperatures so high ended up burying his face in Bentu'vre's arm; Bentu'vre didn't pull away. The deafening roar subsided and Bentu'vre used the butt of his gun to push the cover away, singeing the black paint in the process. Duncan squinted up at the night sky, coloured crimson, toxic smoke filled the air so Duncan wore his gas mask and Bentu'vre pulled on his helmet. Random fires burned, a mushroom cloud rose steadily into the air, such devastation, no matter the circumstances, was nothing to rejoice about. They turned around, and headed north.

It was a huge explosion, a signal to humanity on that terrible day; Monday, August 6, at 8:15 a.m., 1945, a similar, not quite so big bomb was dropped, paving the way to humanity's demise. It was a symbol that there would only be war and death, there would be no more peace; from that day forward, no one would be free again. Kergoth the Lord of Night watched the mushroom cloud grow from orbit, he was not shocked in any way, rather, this is what he had been waiting for, it was the signal that he should take things up a notch, the cultists were being pushed back, the enemy were adapting to them, using the right strategies to purge them in their thousands, then eject them into space via planes that flew just inside atmosphere. He turned and headed through an automatic door, which creaked and hissed as it opened, making a gouge in the floor deeper still. His footfalls were heavy, his armour creaked and motors controlling his blood flow spun like loose rotors on a helicopter, a bubble of septic flesh popped on his face, which he smacked with frustration; by praying to one God of truth, it seemed the others took notice too.

He turned and headed to the cargo bay, where clusters of cultists were being loaded into hundreds of small escape pods for atmosphere entry. He sauntered through a derelict part of the ship, a pair of doors were wide open and red light seeped out, as he passed, there was huge noise, his eardrums rattled, he felt his entire body shake and madness threatened his mind, then he passed and the noise went away.


	9. Chapter 9

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…

Chapter Three

All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.

The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.

Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.

Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, _Independence Day, _John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…

Chapter Four

A small explosion carried across the ship as the custodian began its entry sequence and slowed to manoeuvre around the planets and their rings. Many looked up from what they were doing, they were too fast to recognise what it was from, probably just some fuel going off.

Lots of calls, the chairman of NASA, and various professionals travelled thousands of miles to examine the footage of the alien ship destroying their 6 million euro invention. There was lots of controversy to whether this could have actually been an alien ship, some thought it was just an especially large rock, some explained that the engines on the back were just rocks burning in their own atmosphere. Either way, the site was surrounded by news companies and the leaders of the western world were already trying to think of a solution, it was no secret that they were trying to give Russia and the middle eastern countries as little involvement as possible, and while their governments continued their pathetic squabbles and grudges, the construct grew ever closer, last seen on the satellite monitoring Pluto, the thing was examined in detail and it was confirmed that they were dealing with 'people' from another world, far more advanced than their own… as expected, of course. The people of Earth absolutely loved the stereotype and many were ready to welcome the beings with open arms as long as they didn't go all 'Independence Day' on them. The religious leaders of the modern world said little but knew I their hearts that something would go wrong, when one dared to speak their thoughts, they were overflowed by a torrent of anger and frustration at their piousness, the general message was; "Why do you continue to reach of one God when there are obviously more powerful beings who would deny His existence too?" But it was almost as if the religious leaders all over the world were uniting so they could speak with one voice, the extremists stopped and watched with suspicious eyes, the atheists laughed at them and told them where to go, the agnostics watched them get at each others' necks and looked forward to the arrival of the foreigners so they could feel less lonely.

Chapter Five

The custodian loomed over the watery planet of Earth, two indigenous species held their breath as the huge ship circled, the fist scouts were sent from the ship to investigate the radio signals, pollution clouds and dense light formations.

"Drone 1 and Drone 2 are in the air," Commander Farsight announced in the intercom, "descending now, time to find out what we're dealing with."

The two remora drones swooped down at 1800 mph; each was the size of a small plane and had a pair of burst cannons on the joints of each wing. They were stealth fighter drones and also had a markerlight on each of them and a pair of seeker missiles; the burst cannons were like Gatling guns but fired pulse instead and at a slightly lower rate. The markerlights were target locators to allow anything connected to the same link to get a good fix on an individual target. They were smaller than jets, faster and just as well equipped, even better, they were unmanned.

Down on earth, NASA detected them on radio and swiftly sent a message in Morse code on all frequencies and two jets to guide the way to JFK airport.

"Two Armed vehicles approaching, advising countermeasures", one of the drone controllers shouted.

"No! Follow them, co-operate, we don't want to start the meeting of two races with a bang", Farsight said calmly, "and if they do decide to pull some dodgy manoeuvre, we've got devastating weapons that will blow them to smithereens. Now, have we got a successful match on the species?"

"No, sir, not yet…"

The two drone fighters' shot across the Atlantic Ocean accompanied by both jets, they were making good time, but NASA was wary of the weapons and their purpose on this particular mission. Some wanted to shoot down the drones, but that was quickly denied as they didn't want to-quote, start the meeting of two races with a bang, unquote. People watched the LIVE feed from both tinted window stealth bombers guided the drones to the coast, which was rapidly approaching.

"Confirmation made, species identified, we are in the early 3rd millennium." The head of the Bask'n water caste announced.

"33, 000 years before the existence of our race," Farsight murmured to himself.

"What species?"

"Human."

Farsight's breath caught in his throat, "What planet is this?"

"Earth, AKA, Terra."

The entire ship was dumbfounded as they let the news sink in, on the screens, the fighters took multiple photos of humans far below getting on with their daily lives.

"This is CNN, I am Natasha Robinson, on today's top story, two robotic constructs have left the ship hovering above our atmosphere and are currently being led to JFK airport. After 18 hours of discussion, the American president has decided to allow the Russian Prime Minister stay to greet the 'aliens'. As well as Vladimir Azarov, the Russian Prime Minister and Aaron Morales our President, leaders from all over the world including North Korea have come to greet our guests. Just three religious officials have decided to travel, one being a cardinal from the Vatican, one a Sikh official, and another a famous Jewish Rabbi.

"The welcoming ceremony will include the classic welcome that has been used in many films in the last century, the world's leaders will stand in a semicircle around the visitors, the religious leaders standing in front of their respective countries. There will be a screen in the center of the semicircle which will hopefully provide an accurate representation of our culture, if you have any suggestion please don't forget to tweet or visit our face book…"

Packie watched the screen from his cold, clammy cell, the door had been left open but a prison guard with an electric baton was stood opposite each door, making sure the prisoners leaning out didn't try anything funny. The screen sat on a shelf at the end of the corridor, it wasn't exactly a plasma screen, but it was big enough to get the general idea, the volume was at the max and everyone watched with bated breath, the prison guards were trained to show little emotion, but kept one eye on the screen. Packie leaned so far out the door he was nearly falling out; there came a few frustrated shouts for him to move his head, but in a lot more colourful language. Packie sighed and crouched low, a screwed up ball of paper hit him on his closely shaved scalp, there was a yelp as the thrower was kicked in the shin by a guard and led back into his cell, but he didn't care, the screen was too fuzzy to make anything out from that far away anyway.

Packie glanced back to the corner of his cell, wondering if the child-sized _thing_ was still there. It was a bloated, gurgling, green-brown ball of sludge with small arms and two rows of sharp teeth, Packie figured it was either a test of his will power, a prank set by the guards, or that he was still hallucinating when the police officer's knee rammed into his head back outside the garage the day he was caught two months ago. It didn't seem to be there. There was a roar of approval as the CNN reporter- who the boys thought was super hot stuff- Natasha Williams announced that the Jets had broken off and the aliens were coming in to the airport. We watched with bated breath…

Chapter Six

"Guide them in," Farsight whispered to the drone controllers, "land in the centre of the lights on the ground."

"Amongst the humans?" the drone controller responded uncertainly.

"Affirmative, it seems they have organized a welcome party," he added with a sly smile.

"Roger that," both controllers responded with sharp smiles at their one and only true commander's subtle humour. He rarely expressed such emotion, so they were keen to make the most of it.

Many engineers on the decks commented on the technology visible on the screens from the cameras mounted on the Remora drones.

"Ready a devilfish and my personal bodyguard," Farsight announced, "I want two water caste diplomats and I want my battle suit ready in the back."

Two pathfinders sprinted down the hallways to comply with his orders, they were very fast sprinters, everybody gave them a wide berth as they headed to the cargo bay…

Both Remora Drones hummed to a halt at heads height, the leaders of the world craned their heads to stare into the red lights situated on the markerlights on each drone, cameras, the Tau gasped when they saw them up close, the human race frowned, not sure of what to make of it. They waited. And waited. The leaders began to murmur amongst themselves, but then! A loud roaring of engines as Farsight's devilfish activated its safety procedures. The landing 'legs' extended and the engines on either side swivelled so they were facing upwards and the vents that allowed it to hover were facing down.

The devilfish tuned 180 degrees and before it had even touched down, the ramp swung open. Twelve fire warriors rushed out in full armour. The humans were ready for this though and there were a hundred clicks as safeties were turned off and guns were pointed. The fire warriors paid no attention though as the first helmetless Tau stepped off the transport to greet the humans. They lowered their weapons and created a wide berth for Farsight and the two ethereals…

President Aaron Morales gasped as he came face to face with twelve long, black rifles. Humanoids dressed in body armour trained their guns on them; the famous rabbi instinctively stepped forward to protect his 'foolish' companions. The large transport ship had already startled them, and he didn't feel any safer with the red dots darting on the aliens armour from the laser sights equipped to the USMC snipers' rifles on the building behind him. _Great start _he grumbled to himself, and his mouth screwed up slightly at the explosion of flavour when he accidentally bit too deep into his strong mint. He quickly recovered. Then the two men stepped out, accompanied by a huge robot the size of three men, a bulbous chest, a weapon on one arm, a strange disc on its shoulder and a sword on its other arm.

Everything was quiet, the CNN newsreaders watched, the prisoners at Shawshank state detention centre watched, the professors from the astrological centre in Utah watched from the glass windows in the airport, the world had come to a standstill. People gasped as the fist blue men came out. The huge robot hung back and the two Blue men, about the height of the president, at about six foot, stepped forward and held out their hands…

There was silence, then the Russian Prime minister cleared his throat and stepped forwards to take the alien's hand, but the American President saw what was about to happen and got there first, subtly nudging the temporary 'ally' out of the way. The Tau frowned at this, but smoothly took the President's hand one by one, then shook the Russian's. The American was beaming, but the Tau could see it was very forced, for the news camera traversing the Tau transport behind, and for the news helicopter above.

The President nodded to one of his bodyguards, who pressed a button on the side of the large plasma screen television. To their dismay, the aliens looked fairly bored as they watched the video in total silence, absorbing the culture of this common foe, and the language. In their earpieces, the Tau ethereals were given a stream of Earth words to process, it was their talent to learn languages quickly for emergency communication with foreign peoples. The humans waited as the ethereals talked in their own strange, guttural language with far too many syllables to understand or even get a hint of what they were talking about. Then the ethereal cleared his throat and opted for a human greeting to put them at ease. "How do you do?" He croaked, his voice was hardly perfect and he said it far too quickly for casual conversation. The humans relaxed slightly and one leader chuckled quietly at the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

They then went round greeting each other, the huge robot staying still.

Farsight watched the commotion, studied their faces, spotted three humans studying him more suspiciously than others, their clothes reminded him of the ethereals but it was plain to see by the way they occasionally glared at each other that they were minor leaders of very different religions. Religion. That was the thing that would separate them.

The three leaders stepped forwards to study the robot, eyeing it suspiciously, the ethereals glanced uneasily at them and Farsight's bodyguard stepped in front of the religious Zealots to intercept them. "Allow us to introduce our founding leader." An ethereal announced. "Commander Farsight, overall war commander."

The body of the suit opened to reveal Farsight in a sitting position, dressed head to toe in extra battle armour, many markings on his face. He studied the humans without the aided vision of the battle-suit. Ministers of defence sized him up, then after a long pause the talks began.

Chapter Seven

A warp rift opened on the edge of the solar system, from earth it would take a day for it to be seen, but from Pluto the sight would have made any mortal go insane from the sight and the noise, which was like a club with the volume turned up LOUD, even from a thousand miles away. The fabric of reality rippled then tore apart, a lime green hole forced its way through the darkness and through it five or six huge living ships were launched through, and through the chunk of rock from one end to another. The immense pressure was way too much for the pathetic excuse for a planet, it was sucked halfway in and when it closed, the rift cut it in two, launching the surviving piece deep into the solar system so that two weeks later, after sling shooting around two or three planets, it would smash into the molten gas of the sun and cause a huge wave of heat to roar out in the direction of earth.

The sky went black as night, for the tiny organisms on the heat bathed surface of Venus, the sudden cold froze many scaly bacteria in place, the largest beings, small dust ridden spiders that fed on random deposits of hydrogen in the air wherever it could find them took the brunt of the change and let loose squeaks of pain at less that 0.001 hertz, chaos tentacles reached out and enslaved the organisms, already feeding off their supplies of life and supplying the ships with a source of fuel, within just ten minutes, the entire planet was covered in a cloud of rage, bacteria fought among themselves, ripped each other apart, the death rate rose incredulously, but not noticeably to human speculation, besides, theories of life on Venus had long since been abandoned. The whole planet was permanently redder, like a chilli ready to erupt in flames, the temperature rose exponentially and pockets of air exploded, destroying any neighbouring objects, including the SS Shame XI, a Mexican satellite launched just two months previously…

Within the first few weeks, the Tau had settled their ships in the desert in North Africa, integrated into society in different major cities all over the world. Their policies were not entirely approved of by the west so they based themselves mainly in Asia. The human governments seemed interested in involving them in their own disputes once they'd seen the practical demonstration of their weapons. The Tau soon realized that many of the white men were power hungry and the rest were either religious zealots or brutal dictators. When religious leaders preached that the guests were demons, the Tau certainly did not respond kindly, they fought back with accusatory words, hundreds of warriors cheered for the ethereal speakers and called for the execution of their pious hosts. Within a few weeks, they became a very controversial issue, many religious leaders called it a sign that judgement day was near, the ones who were not god fearing, or not _deluded,_ as the ethereals liked to phrase it, called it a wake up call from an ignorant society of optimists and idealists, ideas which were banned long ago in Tau society, all ideas but the Greater Good had been banned, only one idea would survive, introduce two or even more and there will only be war.

The blistering hadn't subsided, my entire arm was covered in cracked, swollen skin, the prison doctor told me to rub cold water on every half hour and apply cream at least four times a day, but I think he just wanted me to think I was going to get better, I saw the look of dismay when he saw it, as if it wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He examined it under a magnifying glass with a furrowed brow the depth of the Grand Canyon. He shook his head and prescribed me some kind of treatment for burns, didn't say anything about blisters on it. The inmates were acting weird too; I sat with three mates, huddled in a corner, while others stared at us with dead gazes, we decided then and there to apply for the military and as we dispersed, I showed myself to my cell while the guard stood by the corridor, staring dumbly into the barrel of his rifle, what was funny was that no-one took advantage of the situation, it was just too creepy.

17th May 2015, the same day the US withdrew all it's troops from abroad, Patrick decided to join the corps for the rest of his sentence, he was bored and desperately needed to be active, plus he was afraid the other inmates might turn on him at just a moments' notice, little did he know that he's be there for longer than a year, and little did the officers know that the skinny, rebellious ruffian would become a renowned war hero in the epidemic war to come.

Chapter Eight

Farsight stared across the cabinet at the members of the United Nations, flanked by two Honour Guards who had refused to relinquish their weapons on entry and stood guarding their leader. "The signs are clear", Farsight announced, "the enemy we fled from has followed us, for that, humans, I am sorry, I advise you gather your armies and prepare for total war."

"Hold up, you mean to say you brought an enemy to our planet," said the secretary of defence for the united states of America indignantly, and forgive me for saying so, but we've seen your technology and seen what it can do, so if you were running from this enemy of yours, doesn't that mean the enemy must be stronger, and if so, than how are we supposed to stop it?"

"Excuse me," the Spokesperson for the secretary of Foreign Affairs for The Russian Federation, "maybe we ought to let him speak."

"Oh for god sakes! This is not the time to start picking sides again, _Russia!_" the President of the US, Aaron Morales, re-elected because of his policies to ensure that all Americans keep all their rights, even in the presence of the visitors. "Wake up and smell the bacon! We should send them away and if their _enemy_ comes here, we should discuss peaceful negotia—"

"NO!" Farsight roared at the top of his lungs, which was about as loud as a rocket propelled grenade exploding on a slab of metal, the entire board jumped up in fright, he slammed his fists on the table and explained in a raised voice, "This enemy can not negotiated with, it can not be defeated in an arms race or a war of attrition, they are like the Al-Qaeda you face even today, they are like a disease, you need to destroy every last molecule before the death will stop, they can not be reasoned with, they reach out with long arms and grab everything within reach, and when they grab hold, they do not let go till everyone is DEAD AND ROTTING in the cusps of their hands! If we leave you WILL be doomed!"

The President gathered himself and spoke, "And if you stay?"

"You will _probably_ be doomed."

"Well isn't that reassuring", the Irish prime minister scoffed with a tired expression and drooped eyes.

Farsight stood and began to stride round the high roofed room, the Tau believe in the Greater Good", he began, "and we believe this is achieved by allying ourselves with any who might see the good in our aspirations, that is how we have always done it and it has worked damned well so far."

He continued round the semicircle, ascending the stairs till, he reached the members of the British Ministry of Defence, "We will fall in with your troops and utilize each others' skills to crush this enemy of superior strength."

"If I may interrupt you," exclaimed the US secretary of defence, "Several weeks ago, the United Nations was informed that the outlying rock, commonly referred to as a small planet; Pluto went off the map. Last Tuesday so did the rest of the solar system except from our neighbourhood sun. We managed to recover this video of the disappearance of Venus in progress." He turned and pressed a small blue button on his desk. The projector overhead whirred and the room turned to face the image at the front. What they saw was a sequence of unbelievable events, supernatural, impossible; a vast colony of ships leaking black smoke and dripping blood. It was a sped up progress, each second, half an hour passed, Venus turned as red as a tomato, moist, no longer solid, like a water balloon, then it burst from one side and turned black and wrinkled as blood poured in impossible amounts from the gigantic rift in the planets' base, it then shrivelled up and exploded like a watermelon, vast fragments of rock, bone and rock.

"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we now have not only a terrifying enemy to fight, but all space flights will now be all but impossible, what with the vast asteroid fields now covering our once peaceful solar system. How are we supposed to defeat such an enemy?"

"Through attrition," Farsight shot back, "our enemy feeds on death, hopelessness and loss, if we can hold out for enough time, the tide will turn…"

The meeting carried on at this pace throughout the night, an endless volley of opposite views, using each other's comebacks as ammunition.

Patrick's first week in the army was brutal, nothing he had expected, a number of Russian and British commanders had travelled to the US to teach them how to be the ultimate soldiers, with the threat of a large scale war ever present. His running skills were invaluable, but his mind was always elsewhere. _Not everyone's cut out to be a soldier _said the voice in his head. Patrick told it to shut up. His friends were always distracted. They had gone to train in Alaska where the temperatures were sub-zero and everything that wasn't covered in three layers of wool fell off. Morale was low, too law for new recruits, suicide was apparent. Patrick played poker with his new friends, normally it was banned, but now even the generals played it as an excuse to 'hone their minds'. Time moved so slowly; it was as if the cold had frozen everything. One morning Patrick awoke early and went outside to puff on a cigarette. The sky was dark as night even though it was eight in the morning. His hands shook and sweat froze as though they were freezing needles on his skin. A mound of snow weighed down the tent behind him. Across the camp, one musician was playing a lone violin; the sound reminded him of his old Xbox games set in WW2 about defiant Russians in the winter cold. He barely acknowledged those parts, thought they were stupid, that they wouldn't have time for such nonsense, that they should be killing people all the time. So naïve. The ground had faint tracks on it from the odd cargo truck packed with frozen goods; frozen vegetables, frozen meat, frozen guns. Another truck turned in about a hundred metres away on Patrick's left. The headlights were like exploding stars in the endless night, they cast welcome heat on Patrick's cheeks and the sound of the rumbling engine was a relief in the frustrating silence of the random icy plane, in the middle of nowhere. He found himself staring at the truck's tyres as it passed. In its' place in front of him, once it had turned the corner towards the canteen, there was a perfectly round stone, like endless black against the perfect white snow, it had no solid edges, it was perfectly round, it was an eye, was Patrick's conclusion, though when he felt it he knew no eye that was as hard as this, it was strangely warm and he felt his blood running in his feet again. He decided he would show it to his friends when they awoke and he started inside. He almost made it; as he turned the stone eye over in his hands, and a long oval of white, as clear as the snow around the orb appeared. It moved across the stones' surface with a strange serenity under Patrick's palm and seemed to _see _him,then the eye closed until it was just a black stone again and slid into his now warm pocket and stayed there.

It took some time for the Tau to integrate with human forces but soon they were covering each others' backs as they raided houses, secured objectives and fought the now decreasing numbers of rebels that threatened civilisation; they seemed to have been caught off guard and were retreating into their until it all finished when they could tell the world they had all been hallucinating and that they were the real rulers. They now experimented with popular culture such as music and video games and explored the virtues of human life, discovered their values, such as respect, love and achievement and mocked their disparity in the face of impossible odds, boasting to the humans of their incredible prowess in battle, causing various scuffles and a few fists to fly, to the surprise of the Tau who didn't expect them to have such a capacity for violence in this early stage of their existence. They were astounded by their charities and sometimes selfless careers, envious of the level of empathy they could feel, they experimented with religion and faiths, interested in the similarities and differences between their many current gods and their one future god.

They wondered why they were not all regarded as equals, how some lived in absolute poverty and others lived in huge mansions surrounded by precious metals and arrogant servants, they developed a basic trust with the lower class of the world and expressed their feelings frankly to the rich who refused to give to the poor, harassing them and asking rather rudely if they were a different species than the humans that believed in charitable giving and had such big hearts, filled with empathy. They argued against such saving graces as the bill of rights and laws which allowed larger holidays, or bigger salaries than others, and they praised successful communist states such as Cuba, but criticised North Korea for forgetting about it's population, who retaliated by threatening to send a nuclear bomb their way, causing a very heated feud. A lot of death threats and insults followed, mainly criticising how close minded the North Koreans were, which the Koreans twisted and fed to its' population as praise for their _beautiful, joyous_ state. On this matter all of humanity had the Tau's backing.

One such army base in southern Pakistan was a perfect example of this unity; a team of pathfinders had integrated with a British SAS squad; two perfect killing machines in one place, they were very much the same, they felt as important as each other, they worked with the same efficiency, the same speed, confrontations with Islamic extremist groups were not so much a challenge as a competitive game to take out the enemy first. But despite their snobbish nature, they were both very serious when it came to the fight and forgot about their petty differences with regular soldiers. The SAS squad leader's name was Duncan Stuart, the Tau Shas'vre, an individual who declined the chance to fight in a colossal battle suit when he was promoted more than five years ago, was called Bentu'vre, as he was wise and experienced, and Vre was his rank. "What is it like where you're from?" Asked the 40 year old Duncan in one of his rare conversations with Bentu'vre, who was 60 years old himself, 20 years older than the average Tau lifespan, but somehow hadn't lost any of his youthful virtues.

"Our world varies like yours does. Where we are based the land is hilly, with grass and mountains, elsewhere the ground is as dry as a lizards skin. Foul alien spores corrupt some areas; others are dotted with tombs here and there to compensate for sleeping machines. It is not a pleasant land, every day our defences are assaulted by hordes of creatures, every day thousands die on either side, which is nothing compared to the losses outside." He spoke with little emotion, but stared at his knees. Duncan dared to ask, "and outside?"

"Death, only death, there are tales of a human world upon which trillions die upon every year."

Duncan could barely believe it, but didn't want to argue so he left it at that.

Chapter Nine

They weren't ready, not ready for the ferocity of the first attacks, their troops weren't dispersed enough, there were not enough to cover the globe as the first rocks from destroyed planets fell, they were in fact cocoons for the enemy troops; cultists from 38,000 years in the future, savage, with small rifles that shot small rapid bursts of laser. What was most disturbing was that they were all human at some point, but their bodies had been ravaged by chaos, it took the earthlings too long to comprehend the enemy they were facing before they were overwhelmed.

North Korea, Pyongyang, in one of their artificial districts, littered with plain-faced individuals who were not allowed to speak for themselves and had seen nothing of the outside world. They looked up as they heard the faint roaring of the rock hurtling through the atmosphere, some pointed, others tried to continue as if nothing had happened, constantly afraid of the oppressive government. The roaring became unbearable, then rock smashed into the ground, not causing a crater nut instead shattering, impaling a number of people and leaving forks of rock stuck in the tarmac. Bayonets and flashes of light quickly cut down the rest. Later that day, North Korea appealed for help and for the first time in many, many years, foreign soldiers were allowed to cross the border into the world's biggest prison.

The entire world was panicking, riots were amok, martial law was in effect in most states, and the apocalypse was being preached in dozens of pious countries. Patrick had been moved to one of the worlds' most important assets, which was currently under siege by thousands of crazy cultists; London, England.

Patrick rose to attention as the officer in charge spilled out orders in a thick south London accent, barely decipherable. His insults when used against unruly marines were downright hilarious, words like "Knobber!" and "Bell end!" The English truly were terrible at insults. However he never went psycho with us, he stood his ground and looked us straight in the eyes, while he broke us down mentally. He was a prick, but we held a special kind of respect just for him, the kind that involved 'friendly' jives and pouring cans of beer over his head at two in the morning, rewarding us with two hundred push ups, while he went round and stood on each of the culprits' backs in turn. But it was all morale lifting stuff, no hard feelings.

The next morning, I woke in my small room. We were based in a prison, in cells with unlocked doors, I shared with two guys and they were quite spacious, which counted for nothing when you had nothing but plain grey walls to stare at if you couldn't sleep. In the corner was the small black orb. I had forgotten about it. It's eye hovered over me, staring, shrunk away when I glared back, grew when I lost interest. There was shouting and a crash as a table was flung over the railings outside and hit the solid concrete four floors down. The orb's eye grew, as if in alarm, then it seemed to stretch till the orb was three times it's original size, with a kind of thick tail on one end. It slowly wriggled towards me and I rose my knees to my hips on the metal chain link bed, with its' thin mattress. It stopped at the base of his bed, its' eye now the size of his foot, the entire body the size of an adolescent panda. It raised its' 'head' with the speed of a sloth and became as still as an old oak tree. Patrick slowly clasped his hands around its' warm exterior and lifted it as if he were examining a newborn baby. It seemed to look inside Patrick, looked into his soul, then the eye closed and it shrunk to the size of an apple, it's tail disappearing into its' inky dark surface, the eye closing. Patrick put it back in his pocket where it belonged. Where it _belonged_.

Patrick's first confrontation with the enemy was one to haunt him forever, it was an embodiment of the name the aliens had given them; Chaos. He set out into Twickenham in Richmond, where they'd managed to contain some of the threat thus far. There were a few big schools nearby, and an active high street, with a wide, empty road. They disembarked off a military train at Twickenham station and sprinted up the stairways on either side. Five teams of six, each equipped with state of the art Swiss weaponry. Patrick ran the last few metres of the bridge walkway despite his heavy armour, and then successfully vaulted the barrier. They were very well disciplined, they first secured the station and a team set up defences there and stayed put in case they needed a quick getaway. The other four teams spread out. Patrick's team headed down one of the narrowest roads away from the main high street, securing and clearing large houses and newsagents along the way. Some people were even still living here despite the warnings to evacuate to the inner city. So far the loss of life was at 1,500,000 in the UK _alone. _They turned left onto a fairly long suburban stretch and spread out along the road. Fires crackled on either side and the sky was a dark, moody gray. There were bodies, but they were either dismembered or burnt unrecognizable, however, they were all clearlydamaged by the rocks and not the bastards themselves.

They reached a small junction where a separate road on the left curved round a corner. It didn't look promising; it was pitch black, fires roared in silence, broken furniture blocked it off; two houses had collapsed onto the road, covering the street in bricks, glass and tiles. Worse, they had found where all the bodies had gone. They were on sharpened wooden poles, wrapped around lampposts, some were hanging by their spinal cords, and others were still alive… Patrick couldn't stand it any longer; he bent over and heaved. He had never seen anything like that, not in the fatal shooting of his parents and younger sisters, not in the famous US prison massacre of 2014. They carried on and approached the school. This was worse; teenagers and adults had been flung over the railings, the gates had been decimated. We stooped over the wreckage of the wrecked iron gates and proceeded to enter the school through the once automatic double doors.

It was a mess, chairs were everywhere, some melted, others welded to unlikely surfaces, such as windows, there was a smell of burnt plastic and there was a rainbow coloured liquid all over the floor; petrol. We secured the huge school room by room; there were hundreds, as we continued down the infinite corridors towards our objective; the playing fields in a boxed off section of the school. It was unsafe to go round to the fences surrounding the field as the rocks were falling like rain and the area was being pounded by heavy mortar fire. There was a screech as a burning cultist with a huge meat cleaver leapt out of a room way down the corridor and flew straight through a plane glass window, it turned its head to spot us just as it passed through, a wretched expression on it's face as it went, its nose was huge, with boils and one nostril several times bigger than the other. Its mouth was tiny, clamped by its teeth, which hooked through its lips. Another followed, this one completely focussed on its _playmate, _large, tubby, with a gasmask and a spiky club on the end of a sleeve which looked like it belonged to a girl's dress, except the yellow flower patterns were now dark red and shredded.

_Poor taste anyway, _Patrick heard himself, and then scolded himself with some very rude words. They continued down the corridor at a quicker pace now, as the rooms got more and more grimy, burnt out and were filled with more meaningless symbols. No longer checking rooms, they reached the stairs and bounded up, now they were sprinting down a torn carpeted part of the school.

"Cover!" the sergeant roared as a couple dozen mutated humanoids surged towards them from round the corner. But there was no cover, so they ran, fortunately none of the creatures had projectile weapons. Once they reached the first corner and had but a bit of distance between them, they turned and faced them, rifles looking back at them. The devices in their earpieces were beeping fast; the distress beacon was nearby. They opened fire, shots raining down on their infected bodies, shredding them limb from limb, every shot had a target, was planned and hit its mark. They backed up quickly till they reached a junction, one corridor on either side, one behind us. Suddenly, there was a humungous crash as a meteor ricocheted through the school and slammed half a metre into the wall at the end of the corridor to our right, while the creatures continued to push forwards on their left, the rock shattered, peppering them with rocks, one shard shredding a marines' necks, killing him automatically. "Back up!" the British sergeant shouted in their ears amid the deafening RUT-RUT-RUT of the 5.56 rifles. They ran backwards, their feet pattering on the carpet. But behind them another swathe of rabid freaks bundled round a corner, tripping over each other, stray cleavers and maces decapitating mutants wherever a cultist wasn't careful. There were now hundreds of them, literally in such a large mound that their heads reached the ceilings. They closed in gradually, Patrick was sweating violently, and then he turned his head and in desperation kicked a classroom door open. "In here!" He roared over the gibbering mound of no-brainers. The squad rushed in and Patrick shut it behind them, pushing back against the swarm. The others rushed to grab a few tables and prop them against the door. Private Kelly scanned the room and spotted the group of youths in the corner, a mutilated soldier with a distress beacon beeping away in his chopped off hand, a dozen dead mutants lay dead in a circle around them. They quivered with fear, holding the deceased monsters' weapons; the ringleader pointed a chrome glock at the blue door, a determined look on his face. He had a long scar running down his face, one eye was scrunched up, his head was burned where there would be hair and his eyes were bleak; he looked like one of them.

"Finally!" cried one of the boys, who was carrying a metal softball bat, "We've been hiding here for hours."

"Give us a hand!" Patrick roared back, the door was heaving so much; the center of it was bulging inwards. Four of the young lads added their weight to the resistance. The man who was scanning crossed the room and smashed the window, below which, the side of the school next to the football grounds had collapsed, forming a makeshift stairway. Artillery shells slammed down outside ceaselessly, creating an earthquake, causing the school foundations to rumble.

"Climb out the window!" the sergeant roared. The squad rushed away from the door and through the window. There was a short moment of confusion from the crowd outside the door as they stopped pushing against the entire door but instead filed through the open doorway. Their numbers had grown considerably, so that when they moved, various mutants were pushed into and through the wall, creating holes, and finally made the wall collapse, causing the upper floor room to collapse too because of all the vibrations. Patrick slid down the crumbled tower and landed at the bottom, assisting the hooded teenagers. They ran as soon as they were down, stumbling as the shells exploded like C4 around them. The mutants were much slower out there, tripping and crying out in frustration, fighting through random blind fire. A shell landed in a house just behind the squad, causing a huge explosion, making glass and bricks fly everywhere. A chunk of concrete slammed into the back of their sergeant's head just as they had started to put some distance between them and the pursuing horde.

Patrick turned immediately when he heard the dull thunk of concrete colliding with flesh and bone. He almost slipped as he rushed to retrieve their squad leader and haul him over his shoulders before the creatures could devour him. The rest of the squad swore and opened fire, even utilising an under slung grenade launcher, causing a horrific gory explosion, which led to the front lines of the horde to cover their eyes and cough, slowing down enough so that the hundreds that were sprinting behind them crashed into them head on. With a hundred daemonic screams, the rush slowed to a snail pace train of confused, mangled cultists. The squad rounded the corner to the road that led to the high street; the gang of teenagers had already reached the station on the bridge and were vaulting the barricades; the guarding soldiers barely flinching, never taking their eyes off the sights on their mounted heavy machineguns. Their focussed gaze- albeit sweat drenched foreheads- turned to shock and fear as the horde rounded the corner after the fleeing squad, there were so many of them, at least two storey high, climbing over each other, the slow decimated by the strongest, causing them to fall to the bottom and get crushed, culminating in a mess of screams, crunching of bones and heavy footfalls.

Then the armed cultists reached the front of the group.

They opened fire; red lasers scorching Patrick's arms, missing by millimetres, thrown off because the enemy didn't have time to aim with the mad savages closing down upon them from behind. Instead they adopted the unreliable method of 'spray and pray.' This involved pointing the barrels in the general direction of the enemy, while full out sprinting despite their legs of molten lead, running through the pain. Eventually they scored a kill in the shape of one of the British soldiers; the thin beams of dark red light scorched through sinews and muscle structure, creating three small holes, two of which punctured his heart and left lung, they almost went all the way through, apart from the ribs which merely sizzled in the intense heat, causing bile to rise in Patrick's throat. He gagged and tears seeped out of his eyes, a voice in his head roared at him, tormented him, and called him a pathetic weakling. But then the bile disappeared, and then the voice became muffled to a strangled whisper. The slug in his pocket grew and encapsulated him in a membrane under his clothes, invisible to others, causing any shots that hit him to rebound back and shoot through the shooters' barrels, causing mini explosions, eliminating the threat. The membrane then withdrew back into his pocket and the thing concentrated on keeping him focussed. He was dumbstruck at first, then in his mind, grateful as he passed the unconscious sergeant over the barricade at the station, then vaulted it himself, allowing the heavy gunners to open fire. The gun shook a bit at first, then there was a muffled rattling inside as the first rounds entered the chamber, then the gun roared into life, like a lion breathing fire. Each bullet brought an enemy to its knees, the spray created a near impenetrable wall of lead. But it wasn't enough and all at once we were running again, the creatures snapping at our heels, pushing past each other to get a bite out of our meaty shoulders. The train started to leave and the onboard heavy machineguns roared into life. We jumped on as the train sped away down the tracks.

Patrick hauled himself through once they were well away from the station and slammed the door shut. The other squads sat in groups, slumped; humans hadn't experienced so much death in a warzone for decades. They sat in shock, in revulsion of the amount of people they had killed, because even though they were savages, they were all humans once. The sergeant was woken, at which point he screamed, hollow, scared screams, shouting "Blood, blood, blo-o-od." Tears welled in his eyes, parting on his stubble, everyone was afraid. The teenagers were shaken, frozen, they must have been in the school for hours, the dead soldier in the classroom must have protected them but got overwhelmed, before Patrick left he had made sure to grab the man's dog tags.

He opened his fist and stared at the name; L. Peterson, a US navy Seal symbol on the top right corner, a Jewish star on the bottom right. He promised himself that he would mention Peterson to his commanding officer when he returned to be debriefed. He tried to cast the memories of death from his mind as he put his hands together as if was praying and cried into them. Again, he forgot about the strange black creature in his pocket. He didn't have any friends in this unit, but the ones left, including the sergeant when he calmed down, went to sit next to him, somewhat protectively, as they knew the sergeant wouldn't be here if not for him. They say the friends they make in the army are the best friends you will ever make; the friends you make in the army are friends for life. But right now, Patrick only wanted to see Will.

Chapter Ten

The first stage of the invasion was quick, brutal, the death toll was well into its millions, and they were only just getting started. However, now that the Tau was here, the chaos forces were in for a bit of a surprise.

Bentu'vre and Duncan ascended the steady sloped of sand with deadly ease, they were just as fast in the deserts of Libya as they were in the cobbled streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. They were in a hotspot for meteor drops, all they had to do was place a beacon in the center of the drops and get the hell out of there. The US government had something special in mind, something they had only used twice in hostility, something they had anticipated throughout much of the 20th century, something that would show the enemy that they weren't quite as primitive as they thought they were… you'll see.

Once the pair reached the crest of the dune they stopped, lay flat on their bellies and Duncan produced a monocular from his kit. The terrain was flat from here on in, the previous dunes flattened by the force and regularity of the meteors. A few weeks ago, the dune would have dropped suddenly, with light gray rocks at the base of the cliff a hundred feet below. Now however, the flat desert was only 25 feet below since the sand had been distributed evenly over the space from the wind created by meteors burning through atmosphere. They had stopped falling as regularly two days beforehand, but a telescope had spotted an even larger cluster approaching at high speed from the direction of Mars.

The desert was covered in figures; dehydrated, dragging their limbs through the deep sand, many mounds of dead mutants with too much clothes, or too little which had resulted in fatal, agonising burns. Primitive walls of shattered meteor had been formed, many holes and crevices in the walls cramped with sheltering cultists. The heat seemed to drive the beast out of them as they strove for a breeze. Surprisingly, their were engineers down there; mutants with welding masks and blowtorches. Duncan used his skills of reasoning to estimate the amount of hostiles in the gorge below. "I'd say roughly 2,200 tangos, we're going have to use a flare… and we'll also need a getaway plan." Duncan shifted in the sand, trying to get into a comfortable position with his bag slung over his back, unbalancing him. He grunted with frustration and stowed the small, camouflaged device, "I prefer clearing buildings."

"Remain steadfast," Bentu'vre murmured, adjusting the scope on his rail rifle. The rail rifle was practically a handheld cannon/ sniper rifle. He had modified it specifically to leave no trail from the projectiles it fired, and to make nearly no noise whatsoever, in exchange for its armour piercing value; now it couldn't punch holes in jeeps anymore, only flak jackets. Each round was as valuable as a human sniper rifle, each owner of a rail rifle probably had a kill count of about three hundred individuals, and usually had disabled at least five vehicles in their life time with pure resourcefulness and tact. The owner was widely renowned in the fire caste as one of many legendary shooters, unmatched in most aspects, perfect accuracy, particularly a Shas'vre, especially one who refused a battle suit.

A freezing breeze washed through the gorge below, then rushed through Bentu'vre and Duncan, they winced but it wasn't something they hadn't experienced before; Duncan in the frozen wastes of Siberia and Greenland in winter, and Bentu'vre on the -60 degree nights on his home planet… and that was on a good day! The mutants on the other hand cried out in pain; they already hated this planet.

"You ready?" Duncan asked with a slight grin on his face, his trigger finger itchy.

Bentu'vre nodded, then they both rose to a crouched position and picked off the stragglers with unmatched ease, each shot entered their temples and cut off all feeling immediately, moving their barrels to combat the 18 mph winds. They rushed the camp, killing all who got in their way, both equally efficient with their ammunition and their combat knives; except Duncan's was short and had a practical serrated edge, while Bentu'vre's looked ceremonial and was long and sharp, meant for stabbing and lopping heads off with the ease of a samurai blade. Then, in the middle of their silent bloodbath, Duncan caught his battle brother's attention. A large figure was looming over a small group of cultists; the figure was at least 8" in height and almost half that in width due to heavy armour. The huge warrior was holding a huge sub machine gun; which looked more like a cannon sized heavy machine gun. It was holding its helmet by its side, which was horned and had both eye slits like an eagle, and a breathing grille that looked like a round triangle, which somehow made it look more terrifying. The monster the suit belonged to was wearing a sly grin, eyes red as a hot chilli shone like stars in the darkness. Bentu'vre stood still as a gargoyle, the monster stared back through the pitch-black darkness. The monster nodded at Duncan, with a sneer that made Bentu'vre furious suddenly. He roared at the monster, startling the cultists and charged him very unprofessionally, so Duncan did the only thing he could think of and grabbed him by the collar of his armour, stopping him in his tracks before he could do something stupid, he was sure the sword with spikes on its side in the monster's holster wasn't just for show. The monster laughed in a deep tone and said something in a foreign language, then put his helmet on. "You do not even know what you are dealing with, puny mortal," the creature sniggered, clearly enjoying the moment; keen to hear their last defiant line before their demise, they were always _so _creative! But Duncan did something that hadn't been done in thousands of years, something deemed punishable by death by the Imperium; it was the last thing he could think of doing, he pulled down his pants and stuck it in his direction, while flipping him off, then pulled them up and sprinted the other way with a confused Bentu'vre in pursuit. The monster stared after them for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened, and then roared with blinding fury and gave chase.

They swerved round walls of meteor rock and slumped low behind a mound of sand formed by a recent meteor. "What was that?" Bentu'vre demanded, shaking his head.

"Improvising," Duncan panted with a sly grin.

"Did you pinpoint the target?"

"Affirmative. "

"Where."

Duncan glanced with great embarrassment at the –flare in the middle of the camp; a quarter mile away. Bentu'vre swore in his native language. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes."

They stood still as statues for just a moment, eyes wide, then rocketed up the slope. The pursuing mutants cocked their heads at this sudden change of tactics, but thought little of it and gave followed them in their arrow straight path as far away from the clearing as possible.

Duncan's breathing was heavy, still moving at a flat out sprint to escape the impending doom that was to cover a ten-mile radius. They were not going to make it. "Dig!" Bentu'vre cried. They'd lost the mutants and dug like dogs; once they had a hole big enough, Bentu'vre extended a sheet of thick lead over the hole; used to defend against sandstorms, but should have the same effect on hydrogen bombs if in a sturdy position. There was a dull thump far away. Mutants stopped looking for them and ran screaming, then the loudest bang they had ever heard almost shattered their eardrums. The ground shook, as if they were being shaken by a giant which was using the earth as a colossal bowling ball, the lead sheet glowed white hot and melted the sand in contact with it. Duncan's skin, not used to temperatures so high ended up burying his face in Bentu'vre's arm; Bentu'vre didn't pull away. The deafening roar subsided and Bentu'vre used the butt of his gun to push the cover away, singeing the black paint in the process. Duncan squinted up at the night sky, coloured crimson, toxic smoke filled the air so Duncan wore his gas mask and Bentu'vre pulled on his helmet. Random fires burned, a mushroom cloud rose steadily into the air, such devastation, no matter the circumstances, was nothing to rejoice about. They turned around, and headed north.

It was a huge explosion, a signal to humanity on that terrible day; Monday, August 6, at 8:15 a.m., 1945, a similar, not quite so big bomb was dropped, paving the way to humanity's demise. It was a symbol that there would only be war and death, there would be no more peace; from that day forward, no one would be free again. Kergoth the Lord of Night watched the mushroom cloud grow from orbit, he was not shocked in any way, rather, this is what he had been waiting for, it was the signal that he should take things up a notch, the cultists were being pushed back, the enemy were adapting to them, using the right strategies to purge them in their thousands, then eject them into space via planes that flew just inside atmosphere. He turned and headed through an automatic door, which creaked and hissed as it opened, making a gouge in the floor deeper still. His footfalls were heavy, his armour creaked and motors controlling his blood flow spun like loose rotors on a helicopter, a bubble of septic flesh popped on his face, which he smacked with frustration; by praying to one God of truth, it seemed the others took notice too.

He turned and headed to the cargo bay, where clusters of cultists were being loaded into hundreds of small escape pods for atmosphere entry. He sauntered through a derelict part of the ship, a pair of doors were wide open and red light seeped out, as he passed, there was huge noise, his eardrums rattled, he felt his entire body shake and madness threatened his mind, then he passed and the noise went away.


	10. Chapter 10

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…

Chapter Three

All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.

The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.

Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.

Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, _Independence Day, _John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…

Chapter Four

A small explosion carried across the ship as the custodian began its entry sequence and slowed to manoeuvre around the planets and their rings. Many looked up from what they were doing, they were too fast to recognise what it was from, probably just some fuel going off.

Lots of calls, the chairman of NASA, and various professionals travelled thousands of miles to examine the footage of the alien ship destroying their 6 million euro invention. There was lots of controversy to whether this could have actually been an alien ship, some thought it was just an especially large rock, some explained that the engines on the back were just rocks burning in their own atmosphere. Either way, the site was surrounded by news companies and the leaders of the western world were already trying to think of a solution, it was no secret that they were trying to give Russia and the middle eastern countries as little involvement as possible, and while their governments continued their pathetic squabbles and grudges, the construct grew ever closer, last seen on the satellite monitoring Pluto, the thing was examined in detail and it was confirmed that they were dealing with 'people' from another world, far more advanced than their own… as expected, of course. The people of Earth absolutely loved the stereotype and many were ready to welcome the beings with open arms as long as they didn't go all 'Independence Day' on them. The religious leaders of the modern world said little but knew I their hearts that something would go wrong, when one dared to speak their thoughts, they were overflowed by a torrent of anger and frustration at their piousness, the general message was; "Why do you continue to reach of one God when there are obviously more powerful beings who would deny His existence too?" But it was almost as if the religious leaders all over the world were uniting so they could speak with one voice, the extremists stopped and watched with suspicious eyes, the atheists laughed at them and told them where to go, the agnostics watched them get at each others' necks and looked forward to the arrival of the foreigners so they could feel less lonely.

Chapter Five

The custodian loomed over the watery planet of Earth, two indigenous species held their breath as the huge ship circled, the fist scouts were sent from the ship to investigate the radio signals, pollution clouds and dense light formations.

"Drone 1 and Drone 2 are in the air," Commander Farsight announced in the intercom, "descending now, time to find out what we're dealing with."

The two remora drones swooped down at 1800 mph; each was the size of a small plane and had a pair of burst cannons on the joints of each wing. They were stealth fighter drones and also had a markerlight on each of them and a pair of seeker missiles; the burst cannons were like Gatling guns but fired pulse instead and at a slightly lower rate. The markerlights were target locators to allow anything connected to the same link to get a good fix on an individual target. They were smaller than jets, faster and just as well equipped, even better, they were unmanned.

Down on earth, NASA detected them on radio and swiftly sent a message in Morse code on all frequencies and two jets to guide the way to JFK airport.

"Two Armed vehicles approaching, advising countermeasures", one of the drone controllers shouted.

"No! Follow them, co-operate, we don't want to start the meeting of two races with a bang", Farsight said calmly, "and if they do decide to pull some dodgy manoeuvre, we've got devastating weapons that will blow them to smithereens. Now, have we got a successful match on the species?"

"No, sir, not yet…"

The two drone fighters' shot across the Atlantic Ocean accompanied by both jets, they were making good time, but NASA was wary of the weapons and their purpose on this particular mission. Some wanted to shoot down the drones, but that was quickly denied as they didn't want to-quote, start the meeting of two races with a bang, unquote. People watched the LIVE feed from both tinted window stealth bombers guided the drones to the coast, which was rapidly approaching.

"Confirmation made, species identified, we are in the early 3rd millennium." The head of the Bask'n water caste announced.

"33, 000 years before the existence of our race," Farsight murmured to himself.

"What species?"

"Human."

Farsight's breath caught in his throat, "What planet is this?"

"Earth, AKA, Terra."

The entire ship was dumbfounded as they let the news sink in, on the screens, the fighters took multiple photos of humans far below getting on with their daily lives.

"This is CNN, I am Natasha Robinson, on today's top story, two robotic constructs have left the ship hovering above our atmosphere and are currently being led to JFK airport. After 18 hours of discussion, the American president has decided to allow the Russian Prime Minister stay to greet the 'aliens'. As well as Vladimir Azarov, the Russian Prime Minister and Aaron Morales our President, leaders from all over the world including North Korea have come to greet our guests. Just three religious officials have decided to travel, one being a cardinal from the Vatican, one a Sikh official, and another a famous Jewish Rabbi.

"The welcoming ceremony will include the classic welcome that has been used in many films in the last century, the world's leaders will stand in a semicircle around the visitors, the religious leaders standing in front of their respective countries. There will be a screen in the center of the semicircle which will hopefully provide an accurate representation of our culture, if you have any suggestion please don't forget to tweet or visit our face book…"

Packie watched the screen from his cold, clammy cell, the door had been left open but a prison guard with an electric baton was stood opposite each door, making sure the prisoners leaning out didn't try anything funny. The screen sat on a shelf at the end of the corridor, it wasn't exactly a plasma screen, but it was big enough to get the general idea, the volume was at the max and everyone watched with bated breath, the prison guards were trained to show little emotion, but kept one eye on the screen. Packie leaned so far out the door he was nearly falling out; there came a few frustrated shouts for him to move his head, but in a lot more colourful language. Packie sighed and crouched low, a screwed up ball of paper hit him on his closely shaved scalp, there was a yelp as the thrower was kicked in the shin by a guard and led back into his cell, but he didn't care, the screen was too fuzzy to make anything out from that far away anyway.

Packie glanced back to the corner of his cell, wondering if the child-sized _thing_ was still there. It was a bloated, gurgling, green-brown ball of sludge with small arms and two rows of sharp teeth, Packie figured it was either a test of his will power, a prank set by the guards, or that he was still hallucinating when the police officer's knee rammed into his head back outside the garage the day he was caught two months ago. It didn't seem to be there. There was a roar of approval as the CNN reporter- who the boys thought was super hot stuff- Natasha Williams announced that the Jets had broken off and the aliens were coming in to the airport. We watched with bated breath…

Chapter Six

"Guide them in," Farsight whispered to the drone controllers, "land in the centre of the lights on the ground."

"Amongst the humans?" the drone controller responded uncertainly.

"Affirmative, it seems they have organized a welcome party," he added with a sly smile.

"Roger that," both controllers responded with sharp smiles at their one and only true commander's subtle humour. He rarely expressed such emotion, so they were keen to make the most of it.

Many engineers on the decks commented on the technology visible on the screens from the cameras mounted on the Remora drones.

"Ready a devilfish and my personal bodyguard," Farsight announced, "I want two water caste diplomats and I want my battle suit ready in the back."

Two pathfinders sprinted down the hallways to comply with his orders, they were very fast sprinters, everybody gave them a wide berth as they headed to the cargo bay…

Both Remora Drones hummed to a halt at heads height, the leaders of the world craned their heads to stare into the red lights situated on the markerlights on each drone, cameras, the Tau gasped when they saw them up close, the human race frowned, not sure of what to make of it. They waited. And waited. The leaders began to murmur amongst themselves, but then! A loud roaring of engines as Farsight's devilfish activated its safety procedures. The landing 'legs' extended and the engines on either side swivelled so they were facing upwards and the vents that allowed it to hover were facing down.

The devilfish tuned 180 degrees and before it had even touched down, the ramp swung open. Twelve fire warriors rushed out in full armour. The humans were ready for this though and there were a hundred clicks as safeties were turned off and guns were pointed. The fire warriors paid no attention though as the first helmetless Tau stepped off the transport to greet the humans. They lowered their weapons and created a wide berth for Farsight and the two ethereals…

President Aaron Morales gasped as he came face to face with twelve long, black rifles. Humanoids dressed in body armour trained their guns on them; the famous rabbi instinctively stepped forward to protect his 'foolish' companions. The large transport ship had already startled them, and he didn't feel any safer with the red dots darting on the aliens armour from the laser sights equipped to the USMC snipers' rifles on the building behind him. _Great start _he grumbled to himself, and his mouth screwed up slightly at the explosion of flavour when he accidentally bit too deep into his strong mint. He quickly recovered. Then the two men stepped out, accompanied by a huge robot the size of three men, a bulbous chest, a weapon on one arm, a strange disc on its shoulder and a sword on its other arm.

Everything was quiet, the CNN newsreaders watched, the prisoners at Shawshank state detention centre watched, the professors from the astrological centre in Utah watched from the glass windows in the airport, the world had come to a standstill. People gasped as the fist blue men came out. The huge robot hung back and the two Blue men, about the height of the president, at about six foot, stepped forward and held out their hands…

There was silence, then the Russian Prime minister cleared his throat and stepped forwards to take the alien's hand, but the American President saw what was about to happen and got there first, subtly nudging the temporary 'ally' out of the way. The Tau frowned at this, but smoothly took the President's hand one by one, then shook the Russian's. The American was beaming, but the Tau could see it was very forced, for the news camera traversing the Tau transport behind, and for the news helicopter above.

The President nodded to one of his bodyguards, who pressed a button on the side of the large plasma screen television. To their dismay, the aliens looked fairly bored as they watched the video in total silence, absorbing the culture of this common foe, and the language. In their earpieces, the Tau ethereals were given a stream of Earth words to process, it was their talent to learn languages quickly for emergency communication with foreign peoples. The humans waited as the ethereals talked in their own strange, guttural language with far too many syllables to understand or even get a hint of what they were talking about. Then the ethereal cleared his throat and opted for a human greeting to put them at ease. "How do you do?" He croaked, his voice was hardly perfect and he said it far too quickly for casual conversation. The humans relaxed slightly and one leader chuckled quietly at the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

They then went round greeting each other, the huge robot staying still.

Farsight watched the commotion, studied their faces, spotted three humans studying him more suspiciously than others, their clothes reminded him of the ethereals but it was plain to see by the way they occasionally glared at each other that they were minor leaders of very different religions. Religion. That was the thing that would separate them.

The three leaders stepped forwards to study the robot, eyeing it suspiciously, the ethereals glanced uneasily at them and Farsight's bodyguard stepped in front of the religious Zealots to intercept them. "Allow us to introduce our founding leader." An ethereal announced. "Commander Farsight, overall war commander."

The body of the suit opened to reveal Farsight in a sitting position, dressed head to toe in extra battle armour, many markings on his face. He studied the humans without the aided vision of the battle-suit. Ministers of defence sized him up, then after a long pause the talks began.

Chapter Seven

A warp rift opened on the edge of the solar system, from earth it would take a day for it to be seen, but from Pluto the sight would have made any mortal go insane from the sight and the noise, which was like a club with the volume turned up LOUD, even from a thousand miles away. The fabric of reality rippled then tore apart, a lime green hole forced its way through the darkness and through it five or six huge living ships were launched through, and through the chunk of rock from one end to another. The immense pressure was way too much for the pathetic excuse for a planet, it was sucked halfway in and when it closed, the rift cut it in two, launching the surviving piece deep into the solar system so that two weeks later, after sling shooting around two or three planets, it would smash into the molten gas of the sun and cause a huge wave of heat to roar out in the direction of earth.

The sky went black as night, for the tiny organisms on the heat bathed surface of Venus, the sudden cold froze many scaly bacteria in place, the largest beings, small dust ridden spiders that fed on random deposits of hydrogen in the air wherever it could find them took the brunt of the change and let loose squeaks of pain at less that 0.001 hertz, chaos tentacles reached out and enslaved the organisms, already feeding off their supplies of life and supplying the ships with a source of fuel, within just ten minutes, the entire planet was covered in a cloud of rage, bacteria fought among themselves, ripped each other apart, the death rate rose incredulously, but not noticeably to human speculation, besides, theories of life on Venus had long since been abandoned. The whole planet was permanently redder, like a chilli ready to erupt in flames, the temperature rose exponentially and pockets of air exploded, destroying any neighbouring objects, including the SS Shame XI, a Mexican satellite launched just two months previously…

Within the first few weeks, the Tau had settled their ships in the desert in North Africa, integrated into society in different major cities all over the world. Their policies were not entirely approved of by the west so they based themselves mainly in Asia. The human governments seemed interested in involving them in their own disputes once they'd seen the practical demonstration of their weapons. The Tau soon realized that many of the white men were power hungry and the rest were either religious zealots or brutal dictators. When religious leaders preached that the guests were demons, the Tau certainly did not respond kindly, they fought back with accusatory words, hundreds of warriors cheered for the ethereal speakers and called for the execution of their pious hosts. Within a few weeks, they became a very controversial issue, many religious leaders called it a sign that judgement day was near, the ones who were not god fearing, or not _deluded,_ as the ethereals liked to phrase it, called it a wake up call from an ignorant society of optimists and idealists, ideas which were banned long ago in Tau society, all ideas but the Greater Good had been banned, only one idea would survive, introduce two or even more and there will only be war.

The blistering hadn't subsided, my entire arm was covered in cracked, swollen skin, the prison doctor told me to rub cold water on every half hour and apply cream at least four times a day, but I think he just wanted me to think I was going to get better, I saw the look of dismay when he saw it, as if it wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He examined it under a magnifying glass with a furrowed brow the depth of the Grand Canyon. He shook his head and prescribed me some kind of treatment for burns, didn't say anything about blisters on it. The inmates were acting weird too; I sat with three mates, huddled in a corner, while others stared at us with dead gazes, we decided then and there to apply for the military and as we dispersed, I showed myself to my cell while the guard stood by the corridor, staring dumbly into the barrel of his rifle, what was funny was that no-one took advantage of the situation, it was just too creepy.

17th May 2015, the same day the US withdrew all it's troops from abroad, Patrick decided to join the corps for the rest of his sentence, he was bored and desperately needed to be active, plus he was afraid the other inmates might turn on him at just a moments' notice, little did he know that he's be there for longer than a year, and little did the officers know that the skinny, rebellious ruffian would become a renowned war hero in the epidemic war to come.

Chapter Eight

Farsight stared across the cabinet at the members of the United Nations, flanked by two Honour Guards who had refused to relinquish their weapons on entry and stood guarding their leader. "The signs are clear", Farsight announced, "the enemy we fled from has followed us, for that, humans, I am sorry, I advise you gather your armies and prepare for total war."

"Hold up, you mean to say you brought an enemy to our planet," said the secretary of defence for the united states of America indignantly, and forgive me for saying so, but we've seen your technology and seen what it can do, so if you were running from this enemy of yours, doesn't that mean the enemy must be stronger, and if so, than how are we supposed to stop it?"

"Excuse me," the Spokesperson for the secretary of Foreign Affairs for The Russian Federation, "maybe we ought to let him speak."

"Oh for god sakes! This is not the time to start picking sides again, _Russia!_" the President of the US, Aaron Morales, re-elected because of his policies to ensure that all Americans keep all their rights, even in the presence of the visitors. "Wake up and smell the bacon! We should send them away and if their _enemy_ comes here, we should discuss peaceful negotia—"

"NO!" Farsight roared at the top of his lungs, which was about as loud as a rocket propelled grenade exploding on a slab of metal, the entire board jumped up in fright, he slammed his fists on the table and explained in a raised voice, "This enemy can not negotiated with, it can not be defeated in an arms race or a war of attrition, they are like the Al-Qaeda you face even today, they are like a disease, you need to destroy every last molecule before the death will stop, they can not be reasoned with, they reach out with long arms and grab everything within reach, and when they grab hold, they do not let go till everyone is DEAD AND ROTTING in the cusps of their hands! If we leave you WILL be doomed!"

The President gathered himself and spoke, "And if you stay?"

"You will _probably_ be doomed."

"Well isn't that reassuring", the Irish prime minister scoffed with a tired expression and drooped eyes.

Farsight stood and began to stride round the high roofed room, the Tau believe in the Greater Good", he began, "and we believe this is achieved by allying ourselves with any who might see the good in our aspirations, that is how we have always done it and it has worked damned well so far."

He continued round the semicircle, ascending the stairs till, he reached the members of the British Ministry of Defence, "We will fall in with your troops and utilize each others' skills to crush this enemy of superior strength."

"If I may interrupt you," exclaimed the US secretary of defence, "Several weeks ago, the United Nations was informed that the outlying rock, commonly referred to as a small planet; Pluto went off the map. Last Tuesday so did the rest of the solar system except from our neighbourhood sun. We managed to recover this video of the disappearance of Venus in progress." He turned and pressed a small blue button on his desk. The projector overhead whirred and the room turned to face the image at the front. What they saw was a sequence of unbelievable events, supernatural, impossible; a vast colony of ships leaking black smoke and dripping blood. It was a sped up progress, each second, half an hour passed, Venus turned as red as a tomato, moist, no longer solid, like a water balloon, then it burst from one side and turned black and wrinkled as blood poured in impossible amounts from the gigantic rift in the planets' base, it then shrivelled up and exploded like a watermelon, vast fragments of rock, bone and rock.

"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we now have not only a terrifying enemy to fight, but all space flights will now be all but impossible, what with the vast asteroid fields now covering our once peaceful solar system. How are we supposed to defeat such an enemy?"

"Through attrition," Farsight shot back, "our enemy feeds on death, hopelessness and loss, if we can hold out for enough time, the tide will turn…"

The meeting carried on at this pace throughout the night, an endless volley of opposite views, using each other's comebacks as ammunition.

Patrick's first week in the army was brutal, nothing he had expected, a number of Russian and British commanders had travelled to the US to teach them how to be the ultimate soldiers, with the threat of a large scale war ever present. His running skills were invaluable, but his mind was always elsewhere. _Not everyone's cut out to be a soldier _said the voice in his head. Patrick told it to shut up. His friends were always distracted. They had gone to train in Alaska where the temperatures were sub-zero and everything that wasn't covered in three layers of wool fell off. Morale was low, too law for new recruits, suicide was apparent. Patrick played poker with his new friends, normally it was banned, but now even the generals played it as an excuse to 'hone their minds'. Time moved so slowly; it was as if the cold had frozen everything. One morning Patrick awoke early and went outside to puff on a cigarette. The sky was dark as night even though it was eight in the morning. His hands shook and sweat froze as though they were freezing needles on his skin. A mound of snow weighed down the tent behind him. Across the camp, one musician was playing a lone violin; the sound reminded him of his old Xbox games set in WW2 about defiant Russians in the winter cold. He barely acknowledged those parts, thought they were stupid, that they wouldn't have time for such nonsense, that they should be killing people all the time. So naïve. The ground had faint tracks on it from the odd cargo truck packed with frozen goods; frozen vegetables, frozen meat, frozen guns. Another truck turned in about a hundred metres away on Patrick's left. The headlights were like exploding stars in the endless night, they cast welcome heat on Patrick's cheeks and the sound of the rumbling engine was a relief in the frustrating silence of the random icy plane, in the middle of nowhere. He found himself staring at the truck's tyres as it passed. In its' place in front of him, once it had turned the corner towards the canteen, there was a perfectly round stone, like endless black against the perfect white snow, it had no solid edges, it was perfectly round, it was an eye, was Patrick's conclusion, though when he felt it he knew no eye that was as hard as this, it was strangely warm and he felt his blood running in his feet again. He decided he would show it to his friends when they awoke and he started inside. He almost made it; as he turned the stone eye over in his hands, and a long oval of white, as clear as the snow around the orb appeared. It moved across the stones' surface with a strange serenity under Patrick's palm and seemed to _see _him,then the eye closed until it was just a black stone again and slid into his now warm pocket and stayed there.

It took some time for the Tau to integrate with human forces but soon they were covering each others' backs as they raided houses, secured objectives and fought the now decreasing numbers of rebels that threatened civilisation; they seemed to have been caught off guard and were retreating into their until it all finished when they could tell the world they had all been hallucinating and that they were the real rulers. They now experimented with popular culture such as music and video games and explored the virtues of human life, discovered their values, such as respect, love and achievement and mocked their disparity in the face of impossible odds, boasting to the humans of their incredible prowess in battle, causing various scuffles and a few fists to fly, to the surprise of the Tau who didn't expect them to have such a capacity for violence in this early stage of their existence. They were astounded by their charities and sometimes selfless careers, envious of the level of empathy they could feel, they experimented with religion and faiths, interested in the similarities and differences between their many current gods and their one future god.

They wondered why they were not all regarded as equals, how some lived in absolute poverty and others lived in huge mansions surrounded by precious metals and arrogant servants, they developed a basic trust with the lower class of the world and expressed their feelings frankly to the rich who refused to give to the poor, harassing them and asking rather rudely if they were a different species than the humans that believed in charitable giving and had such big hearts, filled with empathy. They argued against such saving graces as the bill of rights and laws which allowed larger holidays, or bigger salaries than others, and they praised successful communist states such as Cuba, but criticised North Korea for forgetting about it's population, who retaliated by threatening to send a nuclear bomb their way, causing a very heated feud. A lot of death threats and insults followed, mainly criticising how close minded the North Koreans were, which the Koreans twisted and fed to its' population as praise for their _beautiful, joyous_ state. On this matter all of humanity had the Tau's backing.

One such army base in southern Pakistan was a perfect example of this unity; a team of pathfinders had integrated with a British SAS squad; two perfect killing machines in one place, they were very much the same, they felt as important as each other, they worked with the same efficiency, the same speed, confrontations with Islamic extremist groups were not so much a challenge as a competitive game to take out the enemy first. But despite their snobbish nature, they were both very serious when it came to the fight and forgot about their petty differences with regular soldiers. The SAS squad leader's name was Duncan Stuart, the Tau Shas'vre, an individual who declined the chance to fight in a colossal battle suit when he was promoted more than five years ago, was called Bentu'vre, as he was wise and experienced, and Vre was his rank. "What is it like where you're from?" Asked the 40 year old Duncan in one of his rare conversations with Bentu'vre, who was 60 years old himself, 20 years older than the average Tau lifespan, but somehow hadn't lost any of his youthful virtues.

"Our world varies like yours does. Where we are based the land is hilly, with grass and mountains, elsewhere the ground is as dry as a lizards skin. Foul alien spores corrupt some areas; others are dotted with tombs here and there to compensate for sleeping machines. It is not a pleasant land, every day our defences are assaulted by hordes of creatures, every day thousands die on either side, which is nothing compared to the losses outside." He spoke with little emotion, but stared at his knees. Duncan dared to ask, "and outside?"

"Death, only death, there are tales of a human world upon which trillions die upon every year."

Duncan could barely believe it, but didn't want to argue so he left it at that.

Chapter Nine

They weren't ready, not ready for the ferocity of the first attacks, their troops weren't dispersed enough, there were not enough to cover the globe as the first rocks from destroyed planets fell, they were in fact cocoons for the enemy troops; cultists from 38,000 years in the future, savage, with small rifles that shot small rapid bursts of laser. What was most disturbing was that they were all human at some point, but their bodies had been ravaged by chaos, it took the earthlings too long to comprehend the enemy they were facing before they were overwhelmed.

North Korea, Pyongyang, in one of their artificial districts, littered with plain-faced individuals who were not allowed to speak for themselves and had seen nothing of the outside world. They looked up as they heard the faint roaring of the rock hurtling through the atmosphere, some pointed, others tried to continue as if nothing had happened, constantly afraid of the oppressive government. The roaring became unbearable, then rock smashed into the ground, not causing a crater nut instead shattering, impaling a number of people and leaving forks of rock stuck in the tarmac. Bayonets and flashes of light quickly cut down the rest. Later that day, North Korea appealed for help and for the first time in many, many years, foreign soldiers were allowed to cross the border into the world's biggest prison.

The entire world was panicking, riots were amok, martial law was in effect in most states, and the apocalypse was being preached in dozens of pious countries. Patrick had been moved to one of the worlds' most important assets, which was currently under siege by thousands of crazy cultists; London, England.

Patrick rose to attention as the officer in charge spilled out orders in a thick south London accent, barely decipherable. His insults when used against unruly marines were downright hilarious, words like "Knobber!" and "Bell end!" The English truly were terrible at insults. However he never went psycho with us, he stood his ground and looked us straight in the eyes, while he broke us down mentally. He was a prick, but we held a special kind of respect just for him, the kind that involved 'friendly' jives and pouring cans of beer over his head at two in the morning, rewarding us with two hundred push ups, while he went round and stood on each of the culprits' backs in turn. But it was all morale lifting stuff, no hard feelings.

The next morning, I woke in my small room. We were based in a prison, in cells with unlocked doors, I shared with two guys and they were quite spacious, which counted for nothing when you had nothing but plain grey walls to stare at if you couldn't sleep. In the corner was the small black orb. I had forgotten about it. It's eye hovered over me, staring, shrunk away when I glared back, grew when I lost interest. There was shouting and a crash as a table was flung over the railings outside and hit the solid concrete four floors down. The orb's eye grew, as if in alarm, then it seemed to stretch till the orb was three times it's original size, with a kind of thick tail on one end. It slowly wriggled towards me and I rose my knees to my hips on the metal chain link bed, with its' thin mattress. It stopped at the base of his bed, its' eye now the size of his foot, the entire body the size of an adolescent panda. It raised its' 'head' with the speed of a sloth and became as still as an old oak tree. Patrick slowly clasped his hands around its' warm exterior and lifted it as if he were examining a newborn baby. It seemed to look inside Patrick, looked into his soul, then the eye closed and it shrunk to the size of an apple, it's tail disappearing into its' inky dark surface, the eye closing. Patrick put it back in his pocket where it belonged. Where it _belonged_.

Patrick's first confrontation with the enemy was one to haunt him forever, it was an embodiment of the name the aliens had given them; Chaos. He set out into Twickenham in Richmond, where they'd managed to contain some of the threat thus far. There were a few big schools nearby, and an active high street, with a wide, empty road. They disembarked off a military train at Twickenham station and sprinted up the stairways on either side. Five teams of six, each equipped with state of the art Swiss weaponry. Patrick ran the last few metres of the bridge walkway despite his heavy armour, and then successfully vaulted the barrier. They were very well disciplined, they first secured the station and a team set up defences there and stayed put in case they needed a quick getaway. The other four teams spread out. Patrick's team headed down one of the narrowest roads away from the main high street, securing and clearing large houses and newsagents along the way. Some people were even still living here despite the warnings to evacuate to the inner city. So far the loss of life was at 1,500,000 in the UK _alone. _They turned left onto a fairly long suburban stretch and spread out along the road. Fires crackled on either side and the sky was a dark, moody gray. There were bodies, but they were either dismembered or burnt unrecognizable, however, they were all clearlydamaged by the rocks and not the bastards themselves.

They reached a small junction where a separate road on the left curved round a corner. It didn't look promising; it was pitch black, fires roared in silence, broken furniture blocked it off; two houses had collapsed onto the road, covering the street in bricks, glass and tiles. Worse, they had found where all the bodies had gone. They were on sharpened wooden poles, wrapped around lampposts, some were hanging by their spinal cords, and others were still alive… Patrick couldn't stand it any longer; he bent over and heaved. He had never seen anything like that, not in the fatal shooting of his parents and younger sisters, not in the famous US prison massacre of 2014. They carried on and approached the school. This was worse; teenagers and adults had been flung over the railings, the gates had been decimated. We stooped over the wreckage of the wrecked iron gates and proceeded to enter the school through the once automatic double doors.

It was a mess, chairs were everywhere, some melted, others welded to unlikely surfaces, such as windows, there was a smell of burnt plastic and there was a rainbow coloured liquid all over the floor; petrol. We secured the huge school room by room; there were hundreds, as we continued down the infinite corridors towards our objective; the playing fields in a boxed off section of the school. It was unsafe to go round to the fences surrounding the field as the rocks were falling like rain and the area was being pounded by heavy mortar fire. There was a screech as a burning cultist with a huge meat cleaver leapt out of a room way down the corridor and flew straight through a plane glass window, it turned its head to spot us just as it passed through, a wretched expression on it's face as it went, its nose was huge, with boils and one nostril several times bigger than the other. Its mouth was tiny, clamped by its teeth, which hooked through its lips. Another followed, this one completely focussed on its _playmate, _large, tubby, with a gasmask and a spiky club on the end of a sleeve which looked like it belonged to a girl's dress, except the yellow flower patterns were now dark red and shredded.

_Poor taste anyway, _Patrick heard himself, and then scolded himself with some very rude words. They continued down the corridor at a quicker pace now, as the rooms got more and more grimy, burnt out and were filled with more meaningless symbols. No longer checking rooms, they reached the stairs and bounded up, now they were sprinting down a torn carpeted part of the school.

"Cover!" the sergeant roared as a couple dozen mutated humanoids surged towards them from round the corner. But there was no cover, so they ran, fortunately none of the creatures had projectile weapons. Once they reached the first corner and had but a bit of distance between them, they turned and faced them, rifles looking back at them. The devices in their earpieces were beeping fast; the distress beacon was nearby. They opened fire, shots raining down on their infected bodies, shredding them limb from limb, every shot had a target, was planned and hit its mark. They backed up quickly till they reached a junction, one corridor on either side, one behind us. Suddenly, there was a humungous crash as a meteor ricocheted through the school and slammed half a metre into the wall at the end of the corridor to our right, while the creatures continued to push forwards on their left, the rock shattered, peppering them with rocks, one shard shredding a marines' necks, killing him automatically. "Back up!" the British sergeant shouted in their ears amid the deafening RUT-RUT-RUT of the 5.56 rifles. They ran backwards, their feet pattering on the carpet. But behind them another swathe of rabid freaks bundled round a corner, tripping over each other, stray cleavers and maces decapitating mutants wherever a cultist wasn't careful. There were now hundreds of them, literally in such a large mound that their heads reached the ceilings. They closed in gradually, Patrick was sweating violently, and then he turned his head and in desperation kicked a classroom door open. "In here!" He roared over the gibbering mound of no-brainers. The squad rushed in and Patrick shut it behind them, pushing back against the swarm. The others rushed to grab a few tables and prop them against the door. Private Kelly scanned the room and spotted the group of youths in the corner, a mutilated soldier with a distress beacon beeping away in his chopped off hand, a dozen dead mutants lay dead in a circle around them. They quivered with fear, holding the deceased monsters' weapons; the ringleader pointed a chrome glock at the blue door, a determined look on his face. He had a long scar running down his face, one eye was scrunched up, his head was burned where there would be hair and his eyes were bleak; he looked like one of them.

"Finally!" cried one of the boys, who was carrying a metal softball bat, "We've been hiding here for hours."

"Give us a hand!" Patrick roared back, the door was heaving so much; the center of it was bulging inwards. Four of the young lads added their weight to the resistance. The man who was scanning crossed the room and smashed the window, below which, the side of the school next to the football grounds had collapsed, forming a makeshift stairway. Artillery shells slammed down outside ceaselessly, creating an earthquake, causing the school foundations to rumble.

"Climb out the window!" the sergeant roared. The squad rushed away from the door and through the window. There was a short moment of confusion from the crowd outside the door as they stopped pushing against the entire door but instead filed through the open doorway. Their numbers had grown considerably, so that when they moved, various mutants were pushed into and through the wall, creating holes, and finally made the wall collapse, causing the upper floor room to collapse too because of all the vibrations. Patrick slid down the crumbled tower and landed at the bottom, assisting the hooded teenagers. They ran as soon as they were down, stumbling as the shells exploded like C4 around them. The mutants were much slower out there, tripping and crying out in frustration, fighting through random blind fire. A shell landed in a house just behind the squad, causing a huge explosion, making glass and bricks fly everywhere. A chunk of concrete slammed into the back of their sergeant's head just as they had started to put some distance between them and the pursuing horde.

Patrick turned immediately when he heard the dull thunk of concrete colliding with flesh and bone. He almost slipped as he rushed to retrieve their squad leader and haul him over his shoulders before the creatures could devour him. The rest of the squad swore and opened fire, even utilising an under slung grenade launcher, causing a horrific gory explosion, which led to the front lines of the horde to cover their eyes and cough, slowing down enough so that the hundreds that were sprinting behind them crashed into them head on. With a hundred daemonic screams, the rush slowed to a snail pace train of confused, mangled cultists. The squad rounded the corner to the road that led to the high street; the gang of teenagers had already reached the station on the bridge and were vaulting the barricades; the guarding soldiers barely flinching, never taking their eyes off the sights on their mounted heavy machineguns. Their focussed gaze- albeit sweat drenched foreheads- turned to shock and fear as the horde rounded the corner after the fleeing squad, there were so many of them, at least two storey high, climbing over each other, the slow decimated by the strongest, causing them to fall to the bottom and get crushed, culminating in a mess of screams, crunching of bones and heavy footfalls.

Then the armed cultists reached the front of the group.

They opened fire; red lasers scorching Patrick's arms, missing by millimetres, thrown off because the enemy didn't have time to aim with the mad savages closing down upon them from behind. Instead they adopted the unreliable method of 'spray and pray.' This involved pointing the barrels in the general direction of the enemy, while full out sprinting despite their legs of molten lead, running through the pain. Eventually they scored a kill in the shape of one of the British soldiers; the thin beams of dark red light scorched through sinews and muscle structure, creating three small holes, two of which punctured his heart and left lung, they almost went all the way through, apart from the ribs which merely sizzled in the intense heat, causing bile to rise in Patrick's throat. He gagged and tears seeped out of his eyes, a voice in his head roared at him, tormented him, and called him a pathetic weakling. But then the bile disappeared, and then the voice became muffled to a strangled whisper. The slug in his pocket grew and encapsulated him in a membrane under his clothes, invisible to others, causing any shots that hit him to rebound back and shoot through the shooters' barrels, causing mini explosions, eliminating the threat. The membrane then withdrew back into his pocket and the thing concentrated on keeping him focussed. He was dumbstruck at first, then in his mind, grateful as he passed the unconscious sergeant over the barricade at the station, then vaulted it himself, allowing the heavy gunners to open fire. The gun shook a bit at first, then there was a muffled rattling inside as the first rounds entered the chamber, then the gun roared into life, like a lion breathing fire. Each bullet brought an enemy to its knees, the spray created a near impenetrable wall of lead. But it wasn't enough and all at once we were running again, the creatures snapping at our heels, pushing past each other to get a bite out of our meaty shoulders. The train started to leave and the onboard heavy machineguns roared into life. We jumped on as the train sped away down the tracks.

Patrick hauled himself through once they were well away from the station and slammed the door shut. The other squads sat in groups, slumped; humans hadn't experienced so much death in a warzone for decades. They sat in shock, in revulsion of the amount of people they had killed, because even though they were savages, they were all humans once. The sergeant was woken, at which point he screamed, hollow, scared screams, shouting "Blood, blood, blo-o-od." Tears welled in his eyes, parting on his stubble, everyone was afraid. The teenagers were shaken, frozen, they must have been in the school for hours, the dead soldier in the classroom must have protected them but got overwhelmed, before Patrick left he had made sure to grab the man's dog tags.

He opened his fist and stared at the name; L. Peterson, a US navy Seal symbol on the top right corner, a Jewish star on the bottom right. He promised himself that he would mention Peterson to his commanding officer when he returned to be debriefed. He tried to cast the memories of death from his mind as he put his hands together as if was praying and cried into them. Again, he forgot about the strange black creature in his pocket. He didn't have any friends in this unit, but the ones left, including the sergeant when he calmed down, went to sit next to him, somewhat protectively, as they knew the sergeant wouldn't be here if not for him. They say the friends they make in the army are the best friends you will ever make; the friends you make in the army are friends for life. But right now, Patrick only wanted to see Will.

Chapter Ten

The first stage of the invasion was quick, brutal, the death toll was well into its millions, and they were only just getting started. However, now that the Tau was here, the chaos forces were in for a bit of a surprise.

Bentu'vre and Duncan ascended the steady sloped of sand with deadly ease, they were just as fast in the deserts of Libya as they were in the cobbled streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. They were in a hotspot for meteor drops, all they had to do was place a beacon in the center of the drops and get the hell out of there. The US government had something special in mind, something they had only used twice in hostility, something they had anticipated throughout much of the 20th century, something that would show the enemy that they weren't quite as primitive as they thought they were… you'll see.

Once the pair reached the crest of the dune they stopped, lay flat on their bellies and Duncan produced a monocular from his kit. The terrain was flat from here on in, the previous dunes flattened by the force and regularity of the meteors. A few weeks ago, the dune would have dropped suddenly, with light gray rocks at the base of the cliff a hundred feet below. Now however, the flat desert was only 25 feet below since the sand had been distributed evenly over the space from the wind created by meteors burning through atmosphere. They had stopped falling as regularly two days beforehand, but a telescope had spotted an even larger cluster approaching at high speed from the direction of Mars.

The desert was covered in figures; dehydrated, dragging their limbs through the deep sand, many mounds of dead mutants with too much clothes, or too little which had resulted in fatal, agonising burns. Primitive walls of shattered meteor had been formed, many holes and crevices in the walls cramped with sheltering cultists. The heat seemed to drive the beast out of them as they strove for a breeze. Surprisingly, their were engineers down there; mutants with welding masks and blowtorches. Duncan used his skills of reasoning to estimate the amount of hostiles in the gorge below. "I'd say roughly 2,200 tangos, we're going have to use a flare… and we'll also need a getaway plan." Duncan shifted in the sand, trying to get into a comfortable position with his bag slung over his back, unbalancing him. He grunted with frustration and stowed the small, camouflaged device, "I prefer clearing buildings."

"Remain steadfast," Bentu'vre murmured, adjusting the scope on his rail rifle. The rail rifle was practically a handheld cannon/ sniper rifle. He had modified it specifically to leave no trail from the projectiles it fired, and to make nearly no noise whatsoever, in exchange for its armour piercing value; now it couldn't punch holes in jeeps anymore, only flak jackets. Each round was as valuable as a human sniper rifle, each owner of a rail rifle probably had a kill count of about three hundred individuals, and usually had disabled at least five vehicles in their life time with pure resourcefulness and tact. The owner was widely renowned in the fire caste as one of many legendary shooters, unmatched in most aspects, perfect accuracy, particularly a Shas'vre, especially one who refused a battle suit.

A freezing breeze washed through the gorge below, then rushed through Bentu'vre and Duncan, they winced but it wasn't something they hadn't experienced before; Duncan in the frozen wastes of Siberia and Greenland in winter, and Bentu'vre on the -60 degree nights on his home planet… and that was on a good day! The mutants on the other hand cried out in pain; they already hated this planet.

"You ready?" Duncan asked with a slight grin on his face, his trigger finger itchy.

Bentu'vre nodded, then they both rose to a crouched position and picked off the stragglers with unmatched ease, each shot entered their temples and cut off all feeling immediately, moving their barrels to combat the 18 mph winds. They rushed the camp, killing all who got in their way, both equally efficient with their ammunition and their combat knives; except Duncan's was short and had a practical serrated edge, while Bentu'vre's looked ceremonial and was long and sharp, meant for stabbing and lopping heads off with the ease of a samurai blade. Then, in the middle of their silent bloodbath, Duncan caught his battle brother's attention. A large figure was looming over a small group of cultists; the figure was at least 8" in height and almost half that in width due to heavy armour. The huge warrior was holding a huge sub machine gun; which looked more like a cannon sized heavy machine gun. It was holding its helmet by its side, which was horned and had both eye slits like an eagle, and a breathing grille that looked like a round triangle, which somehow made it look more terrifying. The monster the suit belonged to was wearing a sly grin, eyes red as a hot chilli shone like stars in the darkness. Bentu'vre stood still as a gargoyle, the monster stared back through the pitch-black darkness. The monster nodded at Duncan, with a sneer that made Bentu'vre furious suddenly. He roared at the monster, startling the cultists and charged him very unprofessionally, so Duncan did the only thing he could think of and grabbed him by the collar of his armour, stopping him in his tracks before he could do something stupid, he was sure the sword with spikes on its side in the monster's holster wasn't just for show. The monster laughed in a deep tone and said something in a foreign language, then put his helmet on. "You do not even know what you are dealing with, puny mortal," the creature sniggered, clearly enjoying the moment; keen to hear their last defiant line before their demise, they were always _so _creative! But Duncan did something that hadn't been done in thousands of years, something deemed punishable by death by the Imperium; it was the last thing he could think of doing, he pulled down his pants and stuck it in his direction, while flipping him off, then pulled them up and sprinted the other way with a confused Bentu'vre in pursuit. The monster stared after them for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened, and then roared with blinding fury and gave chase.

They swerved round walls of meteor rock and slumped low behind a mound of sand formed by a recent meteor. "What was that?" Bentu'vre demanded, shaking his head.

"Improvising," Duncan panted with a sly grin.

"Did you pinpoint the target?"

"Affirmative. "

"Where."

Duncan glanced with great embarrassment at the –flare in the middle of the camp; a quarter mile away. Bentu'vre swore in his native language. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes."

They stood still as statues for just a moment, eyes wide, then rocketed up the slope. The pursuing mutants cocked their heads at this sudden change of tactics, but thought little of it and gave followed them in their arrow straight path as far away from the clearing as possible.

Duncan's breathing was heavy, still moving at a flat out sprint to escape the impending doom that was to cover a ten-mile radius. They were not going to make it. "Dig!" Bentu'vre cried. They'd lost the mutants and dug like dogs; once they had a hole big enough, Bentu'vre extended a sheet of thick lead over the hole; used to defend against sandstorms, but should have the same effect on hydrogen bombs if in a sturdy position. There was a dull thump far away. Mutants stopped looking for them and ran screaming, then the loudest bang they had ever heard almost shattered their eardrums. The ground shook, as if they were being shaken by a giant which was using the earth as a colossal bowling ball, the lead sheet glowed white hot and melted the sand in contact with it. Duncan's skin, not used to temperatures so high ended up burying his face in Bentu'vre's arm; Bentu'vre didn't pull away. The deafening roar subsided and Bentu'vre used the butt of his gun to push the cover away, singeing the black paint in the process. Duncan squinted up at the night sky, coloured crimson, toxic smoke filled the air so Duncan wore his gas mask and Bentu'vre pulled on his helmet. Random fires burned, a mushroom cloud rose steadily into the air, such devastation, no matter the circumstances, was nothing to rejoice about. They turned around, and headed north.

It was a huge explosion, a signal to humanity on that terrible day; Monday, August 6, at 8:15 a.m., 1945, a similar, not quite so big bomb was dropped, paving the way to humanity's demise. It was a symbol that there would only be war and death, there would be no more peace; from that day forward, no one would be free again. Kergoth the Lord of Night watched the mushroom cloud grow from orbit, he was not shocked in any way, rather, this is what he had been waiting for, it was the signal that he should take things up a notch, the cultists were being pushed back, the enemy were adapting to them, using the right strategies to purge them in their thousands, then eject them into space via planes that flew just inside atmosphere. He turned and headed through an automatic door, which creaked and hissed as it opened, making a gouge in the floor deeper still. His footfalls were heavy, his armour creaked and motors controlling his blood flow spun like loose rotors on a helicopter, a bubble of septic flesh popped on his face, which he smacked with frustration; by praying to one God of truth, it seemed the others took notice too.

He turned and headed to the cargo bay, where clusters of cultists were being loaded into hundreds of small escape pods for atmosphere entry. He sauntered through a derelict part of the ship, a pair of doors were wide open and red light seeped out, as he passed, there was huge noise, his eardrums rattled, he felt his entire body shake and madness threatened his mind, then he passed and the noise went away.


	11. Chapter 11

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…

Chapter Three

All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.

The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.

Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.

Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, _Independence Day, _John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…

Chapter Four

A small explosion carried across the ship as the custodian began its entry sequence and slowed to manoeuvre around the planets and their rings. Many looked up from what they were doing, they were too fast to recognise what it was from, probably just some fuel going off.

Lots of calls, the chairman of NASA, and various professionals travelled thousands of miles to examine the footage of the alien ship destroying their 6 million euro invention. There was lots of controversy to whether this could have actually been an alien ship, some thought it was just an especially large rock, some explained that the engines on the back were just rocks burning in their own atmosphere. Either way, the site was surrounded by news companies and the leaders of the western world were already trying to think of a solution, it was no secret that they were trying to give Russia and the middle eastern countries as little involvement as possible, and while their governments continued their pathetic squabbles and grudges, the construct grew ever closer, last seen on the satellite monitoring Pluto, the thing was examined in detail and it was confirmed that they were dealing with 'people' from another world, far more advanced than their own… as expected, of course. The people of Earth absolutely loved the stereotype and many were ready to welcome the beings with open arms as long as they didn't go all 'Independence Day' on them. The religious leaders of the modern world said little but knew I their hearts that something would go wrong, when one dared to speak their thoughts, they were overflowed by a torrent of anger and frustration at their piousness, the general message was; "Why do you continue to reach of one God when there are obviously more powerful beings who would deny His existence too?" But it was almost as if the religious leaders all over the world were uniting so they could speak with one voice, the extremists stopped and watched with suspicious eyes, the atheists laughed at them and told them where to go, the agnostics watched them get at each others' necks and looked forward to the arrival of the foreigners so they could feel less lonely.

Chapter Five

The custodian loomed over the watery planet of Earth, two indigenous species held their breath as the huge ship circled, the fist scouts were sent from the ship to investigate the radio signals, pollution clouds and dense light formations.

"Drone 1 and Drone 2 are in the air," Commander Farsight announced in the intercom, "descending now, time to find out what we're dealing with."

The two remora drones swooped down at 1800 mph; each was the size of a small plane and had a pair of burst cannons on the joints of each wing. They were stealth fighter drones and also had a markerlight on each of them and a pair of seeker missiles; the burst cannons were like Gatling guns but fired pulse instead and at a slightly lower rate. The markerlights were target locators to allow anything connected to the same link to get a good fix on an individual target. They were smaller than jets, faster and just as well equipped, even better, they were unmanned.

Down on earth, NASA detected them on radio and swiftly sent a message in Morse code on all frequencies and two jets to guide the way to JFK airport.

"Two Armed vehicles approaching, advising countermeasures", one of the drone controllers shouted.

"No! Follow them, co-operate, we don't want to start the meeting of two races with a bang", Farsight said calmly, "and if they do decide to pull some dodgy manoeuvre, we've got devastating weapons that will blow them to smithereens. Now, have we got a successful match on the species?"

"No, sir, not yet…"

The two drone fighters' shot across the Atlantic Ocean accompanied by both jets, they were making good time, but NASA was wary of the weapons and their purpose on this particular mission. Some wanted to shoot down the drones, but that was quickly denied as they didn't want to-quote, start the meeting of two races with a bang, unquote. People watched the LIVE feed from both tinted window stealth bombers guided the drones to the coast, which was rapidly approaching.

"Confirmation made, species identified, we are in the early 3rd millennium." The head of the Bask'n water caste announced.

"33, 000 years before the existence of our race," Farsight murmured to himself.

"What species?"

"Human."

Farsight's breath caught in his throat, "What planet is this?"

"Earth, AKA, Terra."

The entire ship was dumbfounded as they let the news sink in, on the screens, the fighters took multiple photos of humans far below getting on with their daily lives.

"This is CNN, I am Natasha Robinson, on today's top story, two robotic constructs have left the ship hovering above our atmosphere and are currently being led to JFK airport. After 18 hours of discussion, the American president has decided to allow the Russian Prime Minister stay to greet the 'aliens'. As well as Vladimir Azarov, the Russian Prime Minister and Aaron Morales our President, leaders from all over the world including North Korea have come to greet our guests. Just three religious officials have decided to travel, one being a cardinal from the Vatican, one a Sikh official, and another a famous Jewish Rabbi.

"The welcoming ceremony will include the classic welcome that has been used in many films in the last century, the world's leaders will stand in a semicircle around the visitors, the religious leaders standing in front of their respective countries. There will be a screen in the center of the semicircle which will hopefully provide an accurate representation of our culture, if you have any suggestion please don't forget to tweet or visit our face book…"

Packie watched the screen from his cold, clammy cell, the door had been left open but a prison guard with an electric baton was stood opposite each door, making sure the prisoners leaning out didn't try anything funny. The screen sat on a shelf at the end of the corridor, it wasn't exactly a plasma screen, but it was big enough to get the general idea, the volume was at the max and everyone watched with bated breath, the prison guards were trained to show little emotion, but kept one eye on the screen. Packie leaned so far out the door he was nearly falling out; there came a few frustrated shouts for him to move his head, but in a lot more colourful language. Packie sighed and crouched low, a screwed up ball of paper hit him on his closely shaved scalp, there was a yelp as the thrower was kicked in the shin by a guard and led back into his cell, but he didn't care, the screen was too fuzzy to make anything out from that far away anyway.

Packie glanced back to the corner of his cell, wondering if the child-sized _thing_ was still there. It was a bloated, gurgling, green-brown ball of sludge with small arms and two rows of sharp teeth, Packie figured it was either a test of his will power, a prank set by the guards, or that he was still hallucinating when the police officer's knee rammed into his head back outside the garage the day he was caught two months ago. It didn't seem to be there. There was a roar of approval as the CNN reporter- who the boys thought was super hot stuff- Natasha Williams announced that the Jets had broken off and the aliens were coming in to the airport. We watched with bated breath…

Chapter Six

"Guide them in," Farsight whispered to the drone controllers, "land in the centre of the lights on the ground."

"Amongst the humans?" the drone controller responded uncertainly.

"Affirmative, it seems they have organized a welcome party," he added with a sly smile.

"Roger that," both controllers responded with sharp smiles at their one and only true commander's subtle humour. He rarely expressed such emotion, so they were keen to make the most of it.

Many engineers on the decks commented on the technology visible on the screens from the cameras mounted on the Remora drones.

"Ready a devilfish and my personal bodyguard," Farsight announced, "I want two water caste diplomats and I want my battle suit ready in the back."

Two pathfinders sprinted down the hallways to comply with his orders, they were very fast sprinters, everybody gave them a wide berth as they headed to the cargo bay…

Both Remora Drones hummed to a halt at heads height, the leaders of the world craned their heads to stare into the red lights situated on the markerlights on each drone, cameras, the Tau gasped when they saw them up close, the human race frowned, not sure of what to make of it. They waited. And waited. The leaders began to murmur amongst themselves, but then! A loud roaring of engines as Farsight's devilfish activated its safety procedures. The landing 'legs' extended and the engines on either side swivelled so they were facing upwards and the vents that allowed it to hover were facing down.

The devilfish tuned 180 degrees and before it had even touched down, the ramp swung open. Twelve fire warriors rushed out in full armour. The humans were ready for this though and there were a hundred clicks as safeties were turned off and guns were pointed. The fire warriors paid no attention though as the first helmetless Tau stepped off the transport to greet the humans. They lowered their weapons and created a wide berth for Farsight and the two ethereals…

President Aaron Morales gasped as he came face to face with twelve long, black rifles. Humanoids dressed in body armour trained their guns on them; the famous rabbi instinctively stepped forward to protect his 'foolish' companions. The large transport ship had already startled them, and he didn't feel any safer with the red dots darting on the aliens armour from the laser sights equipped to the USMC snipers' rifles on the building behind him. _Great start _he grumbled to himself, and his mouth screwed up slightly at the explosion of flavour when he accidentally bit too deep into his strong mint. He quickly recovered. Then the two men stepped out, accompanied by a huge robot the size of three men, a bulbous chest, a weapon on one arm, a strange disc on its shoulder and a sword on its other arm.

Everything was quiet, the CNN newsreaders watched, the prisoners at Shawshank state detention centre watched, the professors from the astrological centre in Utah watched from the glass windows in the airport, the world had come to a standstill. People gasped as the fist blue men came out. The huge robot hung back and the two Blue men, about the height of the president, at about six foot, stepped forward and held out their hands…

There was silence, then the Russian Prime minister cleared his throat and stepped forwards to take the alien's hand, but the American President saw what was about to happen and got there first, subtly nudging the temporary 'ally' out of the way. The Tau frowned at this, but smoothly took the President's hand one by one, then shook the Russian's. The American was beaming, but the Tau could see it was very forced, for the news camera traversing the Tau transport behind, and for the news helicopter above.

The President nodded to one of his bodyguards, who pressed a button on the side of the large plasma screen television. To their dismay, the aliens looked fairly bored as they watched the video in total silence, absorbing the culture of this common foe, and the language. In their earpieces, the Tau ethereals were given a stream of Earth words to process, it was their talent to learn languages quickly for emergency communication with foreign peoples. The humans waited as the ethereals talked in their own strange, guttural language with far too many syllables to understand or even get a hint of what they were talking about. Then the ethereal cleared his throat and opted for a human greeting to put them at ease. "How do you do?" He croaked, his voice was hardly perfect and he said it far too quickly for casual conversation. The humans relaxed slightly and one leader chuckled quietly at the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

They then went round greeting each other, the huge robot staying still.

Farsight watched the commotion, studied their faces, spotted three humans studying him more suspiciously than others, their clothes reminded him of the ethereals but it was plain to see by the way they occasionally glared at each other that they were minor leaders of very different religions. Religion. That was the thing that would separate them.

The three leaders stepped forwards to study the robot, eyeing it suspiciously, the ethereals glanced uneasily at them and Farsight's bodyguard stepped in front of the religious Zealots to intercept them. "Allow us to introduce our founding leader." An ethereal announced. "Commander Farsight, overall war commander."

The body of the suit opened to reveal Farsight in a sitting position, dressed head to toe in extra battle armour, many markings on his face. He studied the humans without the aided vision of the battle-suit. Ministers of defence sized him up, then after a long pause the talks began.

Chapter Seven

A warp rift opened on the edge of the solar system, from earth it would take a day for it to be seen, but from Pluto the sight would have made any mortal go insane from the sight and the noise, which was like a club with the volume turned up LOUD, even from a thousand miles away. The fabric of reality rippled then tore apart, a lime green hole forced its way through the darkness and through it five or six huge living ships were launched through, and through the chunk of rock from one end to another. The immense pressure was way too much for the pathetic excuse for a planet, it was sucked halfway in and when it closed, the rift cut it in two, launching the surviving piece deep into the solar system so that two weeks later, after sling shooting around two or three planets, it would smash into the molten gas of the sun and cause a huge wave of heat to roar out in the direction of earth.

The sky went black as night, for the tiny organisms on the heat bathed surface of Venus, the sudden cold froze many scaly bacteria in place, the largest beings, small dust ridden spiders that fed on random deposits of hydrogen in the air wherever it could find them took the brunt of the change and let loose squeaks of pain at less that 0.001 hertz, chaos tentacles reached out and enslaved the organisms, already feeding off their supplies of life and supplying the ships with a source of fuel, within just ten minutes, the entire planet was covered in a cloud of rage, bacteria fought among themselves, ripped each other apart, the death rate rose incredulously, but not noticeably to human speculation, besides, theories of life on Venus had long since been abandoned. The whole planet was permanently redder, like a chilli ready to erupt in flames, the temperature rose exponentially and pockets of air exploded, destroying any neighbouring objects, including the SS Shame XI, a Mexican satellite launched just two months previously…

Within the first few weeks, the Tau had settled their ships in the desert in North Africa, integrated into society in different major cities all over the world. Their policies were not entirely approved of by the west so they based themselves mainly in Asia. The human governments seemed interested in involving them in their own disputes once they'd seen the practical demonstration of their weapons. The Tau soon realized that many of the white men were power hungry and the rest were either religious zealots or brutal dictators. When religious leaders preached that the guests were demons, the Tau certainly did not respond kindly, they fought back with accusatory words, hundreds of warriors cheered for the ethereal speakers and called for the execution of their pious hosts. Within a few weeks, they became a very controversial issue, many religious leaders called it a sign that judgement day was near, the ones who were not god fearing, or not _deluded,_ as the ethereals liked to phrase it, called it a wake up call from an ignorant society of optimists and idealists, ideas which were banned long ago in Tau society, all ideas but the Greater Good had been banned, only one idea would survive, introduce two or even more and there will only be war.

The blistering hadn't subsided, my entire arm was covered in cracked, swollen skin, the prison doctor told me to rub cold water on every half hour and apply cream at least four times a day, but I think he just wanted me to think I was going to get better, I saw the look of dismay when he saw it, as if it wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He examined it under a magnifying glass with a furrowed brow the depth of the Grand Canyon. He shook his head and prescribed me some kind of treatment for burns, didn't say anything about blisters on it. The inmates were acting weird too; I sat with three mates, huddled in a corner, while others stared at us with dead gazes, we decided then and there to apply for the military and as we dispersed, I showed myself to my cell while the guard stood by the corridor, staring dumbly into the barrel of his rifle, what was funny was that no-one took advantage of the situation, it was just too creepy.

17th May 2015, the same day the US withdrew all it's troops from abroad, Patrick decided to join the corps for the rest of his sentence, he was bored and desperately needed to be active, plus he was afraid the other inmates might turn on him at just a moments' notice, little did he know that he's be there for longer than a year, and little did the officers know that the skinny, rebellious ruffian would become a renowned war hero in the epidemic war to come.

Chapter Eight

Farsight stared across the cabinet at the members of the United Nations, flanked by two Honour Guards who had refused to relinquish their weapons on entry and stood guarding their leader. "The signs are clear", Farsight announced, "the enemy we fled from has followed us, for that, humans, I am sorry, I advise you gather your armies and prepare for total war."

"Hold up, you mean to say you brought an enemy to our planet," said the secretary of defence for the united states of America indignantly, and forgive me for saying so, but we've seen your technology and seen what it can do, so if you were running from this enemy of yours, doesn't that mean the enemy must be stronger, and if so, than how are we supposed to stop it?"

"Excuse me," the Spokesperson for the secretary of Foreign Affairs for The Russian Federation, "maybe we ought to let him speak."

"Oh for god sakes! This is not the time to start picking sides again, _Russia!_" the President of the US, Aaron Morales, re-elected because of his policies to ensure that all Americans keep all their rights, even in the presence of the visitors. "Wake up and smell the bacon! We should send them away and if their _enemy_ comes here, we should discuss peaceful negotia—"

"NO!" Farsight roared at the top of his lungs, which was about as loud as a rocket propelled grenade exploding on a slab of metal, the entire board jumped up in fright, he slammed his fists on the table and explained in a raised voice, "This enemy can not negotiated with, it can not be defeated in an arms race or a war of attrition, they are like the Al-Qaeda you face even today, they are like a disease, you need to destroy every last molecule before the death will stop, they can not be reasoned with, they reach out with long arms and grab everything within reach, and when they grab hold, they do not let go till everyone is DEAD AND ROTTING in the cusps of their hands! If we leave you WILL be doomed!"

The President gathered himself and spoke, "And if you stay?"

"You will _probably_ be doomed."

"Well isn't that reassuring", the Irish prime minister scoffed with a tired expression and drooped eyes.

Farsight stood and began to stride round the high roofed room, the Tau believe in the Greater Good", he began, "and we believe this is achieved by allying ourselves with any who might see the good in our aspirations, that is how we have always done it and it has worked damned well so far."

He continued round the semicircle, ascending the stairs till, he reached the members of the British Ministry of Defence, "We will fall in with your troops and utilize each others' skills to crush this enemy of superior strength."

"If I may interrupt you," exclaimed the US secretary of defence, "Several weeks ago, the United Nations was informed that the outlying rock, commonly referred to as a small planet; Pluto went off the map. Last Tuesday so did the rest of the solar system except from our neighbourhood sun. We managed to recover this video of the disappearance of Venus in progress." He turned and pressed a small blue button on his desk. The projector overhead whirred and the room turned to face the image at the front. What they saw was a sequence of unbelievable events, supernatural, impossible; a vast colony of ships leaking black smoke and dripping blood. It was a sped up progress, each second, half an hour passed, Venus turned as red as a tomato, moist, no longer solid, like a water balloon, then it burst from one side and turned black and wrinkled as blood poured in impossible amounts from the gigantic rift in the planets' base, it then shrivelled up and exploded like a watermelon, vast fragments of rock, bone and rock.

"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we now have not only a terrifying enemy to fight, but all space flights will now be all but impossible, what with the vast asteroid fields now covering our once peaceful solar system. How are we supposed to defeat such an enemy?"

"Through attrition," Farsight shot back, "our enemy feeds on death, hopelessness and loss, if we can hold out for enough time, the tide will turn…"

The meeting carried on at this pace throughout the night, an endless volley of opposite views, using each other's comebacks as ammunition.

Patrick's first week in the army was brutal, nothing he had expected, a number of Russian and British commanders had travelled to the US to teach them how to be the ultimate soldiers, with the threat of a large scale war ever present. His running skills were invaluable, but his mind was always elsewhere. _Not everyone's cut out to be a soldier _said the voice in his head. Patrick told it to shut up. His friends were always distracted. They had gone to train in Alaska where the temperatures were sub-zero and everything that wasn't covered in three layers of wool fell off. Morale was low, too law for new recruits, suicide was apparent. Patrick played poker with his new friends, normally it was banned, but now even the generals played it as an excuse to 'hone their minds'. Time moved so slowly; it was as if the cold had frozen everything. One morning Patrick awoke early and went outside to puff on a cigarette. The sky was dark as night even though it was eight in the morning. His hands shook and sweat froze as though they were freezing needles on his skin. A mound of snow weighed down the tent behind him. Across the camp, one musician was playing a lone violin; the sound reminded him of his old Xbox games set in WW2 about defiant Russians in the winter cold. He barely acknowledged those parts, thought they were stupid, that they wouldn't have time for such nonsense, that they should be killing people all the time. So naïve. The ground had faint tracks on it from the odd cargo truck packed with frozen goods; frozen vegetables, frozen meat, frozen guns. Another truck turned in about a hundred metres away on Patrick's left. The headlights were like exploding stars in the endless night, they cast welcome heat on Patrick's cheeks and the sound of the rumbling engine was a relief in the frustrating silence of the random icy plane, in the middle of nowhere. He found himself staring at the truck's tyres as it passed. In its' place in front of him, once it had turned the corner towards the canteen, there was a perfectly round stone, like endless black against the perfect white snow, it had no solid edges, it was perfectly round, it was an eye, was Patrick's conclusion, though when he felt it he knew no eye that was as hard as this, it was strangely warm and he felt his blood running in his feet again. He decided he would show it to his friends when they awoke and he started inside. He almost made it; as he turned the stone eye over in his hands, and a long oval of white, as clear as the snow around the orb appeared. It moved across the stones' surface with a strange serenity under Patrick's palm and seemed to _see _him,then the eye closed until it was just a black stone again and slid into his now warm pocket and stayed there.

It took some time for the Tau to integrate with human forces but soon they were covering each others' backs as they raided houses, secured objectives and fought the now decreasing numbers of rebels that threatened civilisation; they seemed to have been caught off guard and were retreating into their until it all finished when they could tell the world they had all been hallucinating and that they were the real rulers. They now experimented with popular culture such as music and video games and explored the virtues of human life, discovered their values, such as respect, love and achievement and mocked their disparity in the face of impossible odds, boasting to the humans of their incredible prowess in battle, causing various scuffles and a few fists to fly, to the surprise of the Tau who didn't expect them to have such a capacity for violence in this early stage of their existence. They were astounded by their charities and sometimes selfless careers, envious of the level of empathy they could feel, they experimented with religion and faiths, interested in the similarities and differences between their many current gods and their one future god.

They wondered why they were not all regarded as equals, how some lived in absolute poverty and others lived in huge mansions surrounded by precious metals and arrogant servants, they developed a basic trust with the lower class of the world and expressed their feelings frankly to the rich who refused to give to the poor, harassing them and asking rather rudely if they were a different species than the humans that believed in charitable giving and had such big hearts, filled with empathy. They argued against such saving graces as the bill of rights and laws which allowed larger holidays, or bigger salaries than others, and they praised successful communist states such as Cuba, but criticised North Korea for forgetting about it's population, who retaliated by threatening to send a nuclear bomb their way, causing a very heated feud. A lot of death threats and insults followed, mainly criticising how close minded the North Koreans were, which the Koreans twisted and fed to its' population as praise for their _beautiful, joyous_ state. On this matter all of humanity had the Tau's backing.

One such army base in southern Pakistan was a perfect example of this unity; a team of pathfinders had integrated with a British SAS squad; two perfect killing machines in one place, they were very much the same, they felt as important as each other, they worked with the same efficiency, the same speed, confrontations with Islamic extremist groups were not so much a challenge as a competitive game to take out the enemy first. But despite their snobbish nature, they were both very serious when it came to the fight and forgot about their petty differences with regular soldiers. The SAS squad leader's name was Duncan Stuart, the Tau Shas'vre, an individual who declined the chance to fight in a colossal battle suit when he was promoted more than five years ago, was called Bentu'vre, as he was wise and experienced, and Vre was his rank. "What is it like where you're from?" Asked the 40 year old Duncan in one of his rare conversations with Bentu'vre, who was 60 years old himself, 20 years older than the average Tau lifespan, but somehow hadn't lost any of his youthful virtues.

"Our world varies like yours does. Where we are based the land is hilly, with grass and mountains, elsewhere the ground is as dry as a lizards skin. Foul alien spores corrupt some areas; others are dotted with tombs here and there to compensate for sleeping machines. It is not a pleasant land, every day our defences are assaulted by hordes of creatures, every day thousands die on either side, which is nothing compared to the losses outside." He spoke with little emotion, but stared at his knees. Duncan dared to ask, "and outside?"

"Death, only death, there are tales of a human world upon which trillions die upon every year."

Duncan could barely believe it, but didn't want to argue so he left it at that.

Chapter Nine

They weren't ready, not ready for the ferocity of the first attacks, their troops weren't dispersed enough, there were not enough to cover the globe as the first rocks from destroyed planets fell, they were in fact cocoons for the enemy troops; cultists from 38,000 years in the future, savage, with small rifles that shot small rapid bursts of laser. What was most disturbing was that they were all human at some point, but their bodies had been ravaged by chaos, it took the earthlings too long to comprehend the enemy they were facing before they were overwhelmed.

North Korea, Pyongyang, in one of their artificial districts, littered with plain-faced individuals who were not allowed to speak for themselves and had seen nothing of the outside world. They looked up as they heard the faint roaring of the rock hurtling through the atmosphere, some pointed, others tried to continue as if nothing had happened, constantly afraid of the oppressive government. The roaring became unbearable, then rock smashed into the ground, not causing a crater nut instead shattering, impaling a number of people and leaving forks of rock stuck in the tarmac. Bayonets and flashes of light quickly cut down the rest. Later that day, North Korea appealed for help and for the first time in many, many years, foreign soldiers were allowed to cross the border into the world's biggest prison.

The entire world was panicking, riots were amok, martial law was in effect in most states, and the apocalypse was being preached in dozens of pious countries. Patrick had been moved to one of the worlds' most important assets, which was currently under siege by thousands of crazy cultists; London, England.

Patrick rose to attention as the officer in charge spilled out orders in a thick south London accent, barely decipherable. His insults when used against unruly marines were downright hilarious, words like "Knobber!" and "Bell end!" The English truly were terrible at insults. However he never went psycho with us, he stood his ground and looked us straight in the eyes, while he broke us down mentally. He was a prick, but we held a special kind of respect just for him, the kind that involved 'friendly' jives and pouring cans of beer over his head at two in the morning, rewarding us with two hundred push ups, while he went round and stood on each of the culprits' backs in turn. But it was all morale lifting stuff, no hard feelings.

The next morning, I woke in my small room. We were based in a prison, in cells with unlocked doors, I shared with two guys and they were quite spacious, which counted for nothing when you had nothing but plain grey walls to stare at if you couldn't sleep. In the corner was the small black orb. I had forgotten about it. It's eye hovered over me, staring, shrunk away when I glared back, grew when I lost interest. There was shouting and a crash as a table was flung over the railings outside and hit the solid concrete four floors down. The orb's eye grew, as if in alarm, then it seemed to stretch till the orb was three times it's original size, with a kind of thick tail on one end. It slowly wriggled towards me and I rose my knees to my hips on the metal chain link bed, with its' thin mattress. It stopped at the base of his bed, its' eye now the size of his foot, the entire body the size of an adolescent panda. It raised its' 'head' with the speed of a sloth and became as still as an old oak tree. Patrick slowly clasped his hands around its' warm exterior and lifted it as if he were examining a newborn baby. It seemed to look inside Patrick, looked into his soul, then the eye closed and it shrunk to the size of an apple, it's tail disappearing into its' inky dark surface, the eye closing. Patrick put it back in his pocket where it belonged. Where it _belonged_.

Patrick's first confrontation with the enemy was one to haunt him forever, it was an embodiment of the name the aliens had given them; Chaos. He set out into Twickenham in Richmond, where they'd managed to contain some of the threat thus far. There were a few big schools nearby, and an active high street, with a wide, empty road. They disembarked off a military train at Twickenham station and sprinted up the stairways on either side. Five teams of six, each equipped with state of the art Swiss weaponry. Patrick ran the last few metres of the bridge walkway despite his heavy armour, and then successfully vaulted the barrier. They were very well disciplined, they first secured the station and a team set up defences there and stayed put in case they needed a quick getaway. The other four teams spread out. Patrick's team headed down one of the narrowest roads away from the main high street, securing and clearing large houses and newsagents along the way. Some people were even still living here despite the warnings to evacuate to the inner city. So far the loss of life was at 1,500,000 in the UK _alone. _They turned left onto a fairly long suburban stretch and spread out along the road. Fires crackled on either side and the sky was a dark, moody gray. There were bodies, but they were either dismembered or burnt unrecognizable, however, they were all clearlydamaged by the rocks and not the bastards themselves.

They reached a small junction where a separate road on the left curved round a corner. It didn't look promising; it was pitch black, fires roared in silence, broken furniture blocked it off; two houses had collapsed onto the road, covering the street in bricks, glass and tiles. Worse, they had found where all the bodies had gone. They were on sharpened wooden poles, wrapped around lampposts, some were hanging by their spinal cords, and others were still alive… Patrick couldn't stand it any longer; he bent over and heaved. He had never seen anything like that, not in the fatal shooting of his parents and younger sisters, not in the famous US prison massacre of 2014. They carried on and approached the school. This was worse; teenagers and adults had been flung over the railings, the gates had been decimated. We stooped over the wreckage of the wrecked iron gates and proceeded to enter the school through the once automatic double doors.

It was a mess, chairs were everywhere, some melted, others welded to unlikely surfaces, such as windows, there was a smell of burnt plastic and there was a rainbow coloured liquid all over the floor; petrol. We secured the huge school room by room; there were hundreds, as we continued down the infinite corridors towards our objective; the playing fields in a boxed off section of the school. It was unsafe to go round to the fences surrounding the field as the rocks were falling like rain and the area was being pounded by heavy mortar fire. There was a screech as a burning cultist with a huge meat cleaver leapt out of a room way down the corridor and flew straight through a plane glass window, it turned its head to spot us just as it passed through, a wretched expression on it's face as it went, its nose was huge, with boils and one nostril several times bigger than the other. Its mouth was tiny, clamped by its teeth, which hooked through its lips. Another followed, this one completely focussed on its _playmate, _large, tubby, with a gasmask and a spiky club on the end of a sleeve which looked like it belonged to a girl's dress, except the yellow flower patterns were now dark red and shredded.

_Poor taste anyway, _Patrick heard himself, and then scolded himself with some very rude words. They continued down the corridor at a quicker pace now, as the rooms got more and more grimy, burnt out and were filled with more meaningless symbols. No longer checking rooms, they reached the stairs and bounded up, now they were sprinting down a torn carpeted part of the school.

"Cover!" the sergeant roared as a couple dozen mutated humanoids surged towards them from round the corner. But there was no cover, so they ran, fortunately none of the creatures had projectile weapons. Once they reached the first corner and had but a bit of distance between them, they turned and faced them, rifles looking back at them. The devices in their earpieces were beeping fast; the distress beacon was nearby. They opened fire, shots raining down on their infected bodies, shredding them limb from limb, every shot had a target, was planned and hit its mark. They backed up quickly till they reached a junction, one corridor on either side, one behind us. Suddenly, there was a humungous crash as a meteor ricocheted through the school and slammed half a metre into the wall at the end of the corridor to our right, while the creatures continued to push forwards on their left, the rock shattered, peppering them with rocks, one shard shredding a marines' necks, killing him automatically. "Back up!" the British sergeant shouted in their ears amid the deafening RUT-RUT-RUT of the 5.56 rifles. They ran backwards, their feet pattering on the carpet. But behind them another swathe of rabid freaks bundled round a corner, tripping over each other, stray cleavers and maces decapitating mutants wherever a cultist wasn't careful. There were now hundreds of them, literally in such a large mound that their heads reached the ceilings. They closed in gradually, Patrick was sweating violently, and then he turned his head and in desperation kicked a classroom door open. "In here!" He roared over the gibbering mound of no-brainers. The squad rushed in and Patrick shut it behind them, pushing back against the swarm. The others rushed to grab a few tables and prop them against the door. Private Kelly scanned the room and spotted the group of youths in the corner, a mutilated soldier with a distress beacon beeping away in his chopped off hand, a dozen dead mutants lay dead in a circle around them. They quivered with fear, holding the deceased monsters' weapons; the ringleader pointed a chrome glock at the blue door, a determined look on his face. He had a long scar running down his face, one eye was scrunched up, his head was burned where there would be hair and his eyes were bleak; he looked like one of them.

"Finally!" cried one of the boys, who was carrying a metal softball bat, "We've been hiding here for hours."

"Give us a hand!" Patrick roared back, the door was heaving so much; the center of it was bulging inwards. Four of the young lads added their weight to the resistance. The man who was scanning crossed the room and smashed the window, below which, the side of the school next to the football grounds had collapsed, forming a makeshift stairway. Artillery shells slammed down outside ceaselessly, creating an earthquake, causing the school foundations to rumble.

"Climb out the window!" the sergeant roared. The squad rushed away from the door and through the window. There was a short moment of confusion from the crowd outside the door as they stopped pushing against the entire door but instead filed through the open doorway. Their numbers had grown considerably, so that when they moved, various mutants were pushed into and through the wall, creating holes, and finally made the wall collapse, causing the upper floor room to collapse too because of all the vibrations. Patrick slid down the crumbled tower and landed at the bottom, assisting the hooded teenagers. They ran as soon as they were down, stumbling as the shells exploded like C4 around them. The mutants were much slower out there, tripping and crying out in frustration, fighting through random blind fire. A shell landed in a house just behind the squad, causing a huge explosion, making glass and bricks fly everywhere. A chunk of concrete slammed into the back of their sergeant's head just as they had started to put some distance between them and the pursuing horde.

Patrick turned immediately when he heard the dull thunk of concrete colliding with flesh and bone. He almost slipped as he rushed to retrieve their squad leader and haul him over his shoulders before the creatures could devour him. The rest of the squad swore and opened fire, even utilising an under slung grenade launcher, causing a horrific gory explosion, which led to the front lines of the horde to cover their eyes and cough, slowing down enough so that the hundreds that were sprinting behind them crashed into them head on. With a hundred daemonic screams, the rush slowed to a snail pace train of confused, mangled cultists. The squad rounded the corner to the road that led to the high street; the gang of teenagers had already reached the station on the bridge and were vaulting the barricades; the guarding soldiers barely flinching, never taking their eyes off the sights on their mounted heavy machineguns. Their focussed gaze- albeit sweat drenched foreheads- turned to shock and fear as the horde rounded the corner after the fleeing squad, there were so many of them, at least two storey high, climbing over each other, the slow decimated by the strongest, causing them to fall to the bottom and get crushed, culminating in a mess of screams, crunching of bones and heavy footfalls.

Then the armed cultists reached the front of the group.

They opened fire; red lasers scorching Patrick's arms, missing by millimetres, thrown off because the enemy didn't have time to aim with the mad savages closing down upon them from behind. Instead they adopted the unreliable method of 'spray and pray.' This involved pointing the barrels in the general direction of the enemy, while full out sprinting despite their legs of molten lead, running through the pain. Eventually they scored a kill in the shape of one of the British soldiers; the thin beams of dark red light scorched through sinews and muscle structure, creating three small holes, two of which punctured his heart and left lung, they almost went all the way through, apart from the ribs which merely sizzled in the intense heat, causing bile to rise in Patrick's throat. He gagged and tears seeped out of his eyes, a voice in his head roared at him, tormented him, and called him a pathetic weakling. But then the bile disappeared, and then the voice became muffled to a strangled whisper. The slug in his pocket grew and encapsulated him in a membrane under his clothes, invisible to others, causing any shots that hit him to rebound back and shoot through the shooters' barrels, causing mini explosions, eliminating the threat. The membrane then withdrew back into his pocket and the thing concentrated on keeping him focussed. He was dumbstruck at first, then in his mind, grateful as he passed the unconscious sergeant over the barricade at the station, then vaulted it himself, allowing the heavy gunners to open fire. The gun shook a bit at first, then there was a muffled rattling inside as the first rounds entered the chamber, then the gun roared into life, like a lion breathing fire. Each bullet brought an enemy to its knees, the spray created a near impenetrable wall of lead. But it wasn't enough and all at once we were running again, the creatures snapping at our heels, pushing past each other to get a bite out of our meaty shoulders. The train started to leave and the onboard heavy machineguns roared into life. We jumped on as the train sped away down the tracks.

Patrick hauled himself through once they were well away from the station and slammed the door shut. The other squads sat in groups, slumped; humans hadn't experienced so much death in a warzone for decades. They sat in shock, in revulsion of the amount of people they had killed, because even though they were savages, they were all humans once. The sergeant was woken, at which point he screamed, hollow, scared screams, shouting "Blood, blood, blo-o-od." Tears welled in his eyes, parting on his stubble, everyone was afraid. The teenagers were shaken, frozen, they must have been in the school for hours, the dead soldier in the classroom must have protected them but got overwhelmed, before Patrick left he had made sure to grab the man's dog tags.

He opened his fist and stared at the name; L. Peterson, a US navy Seal symbol on the top right corner, a Jewish star on the bottom right. He promised himself that he would mention Peterson to his commanding officer when he returned to be debriefed. He tried to cast the memories of death from his mind as he put his hands together as if was praying and cried into them. Again, he forgot about the strange black creature in his pocket. He didn't have any friends in this unit, but the ones left, including the sergeant when he calmed down, went to sit next to him, somewhat protectively, as they knew the sergeant wouldn't be here if not for him. They say the friends they make in the army are the best friends you will ever make; the friends you make in the army are friends for life. But right now, Patrick only wanted to see Will.

Chapter Ten

The first stage of the invasion was quick, brutal, the death toll was well into its millions, and they were only just getting started. However, now that the Tau was here, the chaos forces were in for a bit of a surprise.

Bentu'vre and Duncan ascended the steady sloped of sand with deadly ease, they were just as fast in the deserts of Libya as they were in the cobbled streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. They were in a hotspot for meteor drops, all they had to do was place a beacon in the center of the drops and get the hell out of there. The US government had something special in mind, something they had only used twice in hostility, something they had anticipated throughout much of the 20th century, something that would show the enemy that they weren't quite as primitive as they thought they were… you'll see.

Once the pair reached the crest of the dune they stopped, lay flat on their bellies and Duncan produced a monocular from his kit. The terrain was flat from here on in, the previous dunes flattened by the force and regularity of the meteors. A few weeks ago, the dune would have dropped suddenly, with light gray rocks at the base of the cliff a hundred feet below. Now however, the flat desert was only 25 feet below since the sand had been distributed evenly over the space from the wind created by meteors burning through atmosphere. They had stopped falling as regularly two days beforehand, but a telescope had spotted an even larger cluster approaching at high speed from the direction of Mars.

The desert was covered in figures; dehydrated, dragging their limbs through the deep sand, many mounds of dead mutants with too much clothes, or too little which had resulted in fatal, agonising burns. Primitive walls of shattered meteor had been formed, many holes and crevices in the walls cramped with sheltering cultists. The heat seemed to drive the beast out of them as they strove for a breeze. Surprisingly, their were engineers down there; mutants with welding masks and blowtorches. Duncan used his skills of reasoning to estimate the amount of hostiles in the gorge below. "I'd say roughly 2,200 tangos, we're going have to use a flare… and we'll also need a getaway plan." Duncan shifted in the sand, trying to get into a comfortable position with his bag slung over his back, unbalancing him. He grunted with frustration and stowed the small, camouflaged device, "I prefer clearing buildings."

"Remain steadfast," Bentu'vre murmured, adjusting the scope on his rail rifle. The rail rifle was practically a handheld cannon/ sniper rifle. He had modified it specifically to leave no trail from the projectiles it fired, and to make nearly no noise whatsoever, in exchange for its armour piercing value; now it couldn't punch holes in jeeps anymore, only flak jackets. Each round was as valuable as a human sniper rifle, each owner of a rail rifle probably had a kill count of about three hundred individuals, and usually had disabled at least five vehicles in their life time with pure resourcefulness and tact. The owner was widely renowned in the fire caste as one of many legendary shooters, unmatched in most aspects, perfect accuracy, particularly a Shas'vre, especially one who refused a battle suit.

A freezing breeze washed through the gorge below, then rushed through Bentu'vre and Duncan, they winced but it wasn't something they hadn't experienced before; Duncan in the frozen wastes of Siberia and Greenland in winter, and Bentu'vre on the -60 degree nights on his home planet… and that was on a good day! The mutants on the other hand cried out in pain; they already hated this planet.

"You ready?" Duncan asked with a slight grin on his face, his trigger finger itchy.

Bentu'vre nodded, then they both rose to a crouched position and picked off the stragglers with unmatched ease, each shot entered their temples and cut off all feeling immediately, moving their barrels to combat the 18 mph winds. They rushed the camp, killing all who got in their way, both equally efficient with their ammunition and their combat knives; except Duncan's was short and had a practical serrated edge, while Bentu'vre's looked ceremonial and was long and sharp, meant for stabbing and lopping heads off with the ease of a samurai blade. Then, in the middle of their silent bloodbath, Duncan caught his battle brother's attention. A large figure was looming over a small group of cultists; the figure was at least 8" in height and almost half that in width due to heavy armour. The huge warrior was holding a huge sub machine gun; which looked more like a cannon sized heavy machine gun. It was holding its helmet by its side, which was horned and had both eye slits like an eagle, and a breathing grille that looked like a round triangle, which somehow made it look more terrifying. The monster the suit belonged to was wearing a sly grin, eyes red as a hot chilli shone like stars in the darkness. Bentu'vre stood still as a gargoyle, the monster stared back through the pitch-black darkness. The monster nodded at Duncan, with a sneer that made Bentu'vre furious suddenly. He roared at the monster, startling the cultists and charged him very unprofessionally, so Duncan did the only thing he could think of and grabbed him by the collar of his armour, stopping him in his tracks before he could do something stupid, he was sure the sword with spikes on its side in the monster's holster wasn't just for show. The monster laughed in a deep tone and said something in a foreign language, then put his helmet on. "You do not even know what you are dealing with, puny mortal," the creature sniggered, clearly enjoying the moment; keen to hear their last defiant line before their demise, they were always _so _creative! But Duncan did something that hadn't been done in thousands of years, something deemed punishable by death by the Imperium; it was the last thing he could think of doing, he pulled down his pants and stuck it in his direction, while flipping him off, then pulled them up and sprinted the other way with a confused Bentu'vre in pursuit. The monster stared after them for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened, and then roared with blinding fury and gave chase.

They swerved round walls of meteor rock and slumped low behind a mound of sand formed by a recent meteor. "What was that?" Bentu'vre demanded, shaking his head.

"Improvising," Duncan panted with a sly grin.

"Did you pinpoint the target?"

"Affirmative. "

"Where."

Duncan glanced with great embarrassment at the –flare in the middle of the camp; a quarter mile away. Bentu'vre swore in his native language. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes."

They stood still as statues for just a moment, eyes wide, then rocketed up the slope. The pursuing mutants cocked their heads at this sudden change of tactics, but thought little of it and gave followed them in their arrow straight path as far away from the clearing as possible.

Duncan's breathing was heavy, still moving at a flat out sprint to escape the impending doom that was to cover a ten-mile radius. They were not going to make it. "Dig!" Bentu'vre cried. They'd lost the mutants and dug like dogs; once they had a hole big enough, Bentu'vre extended a sheet of thick lead over the hole; used to defend against sandstorms, but should have the same effect on hydrogen bombs if in a sturdy position. There was a dull thump far away. Mutants stopped looking for them and ran screaming, then the loudest bang they had ever heard almost shattered their eardrums. The ground shook, as if they were being shaken by a giant which was using the earth as a colossal bowling ball, the lead sheet glowed white hot and melted the sand in contact with it. Duncan's skin, not used to temperatures so high ended up burying his face in Bentu'vre's arm; Bentu'vre didn't pull away. The deafening roar subsided and Bentu'vre used the butt of his gun to push the cover away, singeing the black paint in the process. Duncan squinted up at the night sky, coloured crimson, toxic smoke filled the air so Duncan wore his gas mask and Bentu'vre pulled on his helmet. Random fires burned, a mushroom cloud rose steadily into the air, such devastation, no matter the circumstances, was nothing to rejoice about. They turned around, and headed north.

It was a huge explosion, a signal to humanity on that terrible day; Monday, August 6, at 8:15 a.m., 1945, a similar, not quite so big bomb was dropped, paving the way to humanity's demise. It was a symbol that there would only be war and death, there would be no more peace; from that day forward, no one would be free again. Kergoth the Lord of Night watched the mushroom cloud grow from orbit, he was not shocked in any way, rather, this is what he had been waiting for, it was the signal that he should take things up a notch, the cultists were being pushed back, the enemy were adapting to them, using the right strategies to purge them in their thousands, then eject them into space via planes that flew just inside atmosphere. He turned and headed through an automatic door, which creaked and hissed as it opened, making a gouge in the floor deeper still. His footfalls were heavy, his armour creaked and motors controlling his blood flow spun like loose rotors on a helicopter, a bubble of septic flesh popped on his face, which he smacked with frustration; by praying to one God of truth, it seemed the others took notice too.

He turned and headed to the cargo bay, where clusters of cultists were being loaded into hundreds of small escape pods for atmosphere entry. He sauntered through a derelict part of the ship, a pair of doors were wide open and red light seeped out, as he passed, there was huge noise, his eardrums rattled, he felt his entire body shake and madness threatened his mind, then he passed and the noise went away.

He approached a row of crates by a pit in the cargo bay. A technician in power armour stood taking notes on a checklist.

He turned and saluted, used to seeing authoritarians wander through and taking care to show respect to avoid getting trodden on.

"At ease, Sabotan, what is it you wanted to show me?"

"Ah-ah! Stand back, you will be very happy with your loyal servant", the technician smirked with a grin that opened his cheeks like an extended fleshy maw. He lifted a power claw towards the pit and there were a series of clicks as the cogs in his modified claw communicated with whatever was lurking in the darkness. There was a shriek in response and a huge metal claw rose from the pit, as wide as a girder, sharp as a meat knife, and stabbed the floor, then pulled the rest of itself up; two more claws assisted in pulling a huge metal box over the edge, complete with a cannon on its front and a helmet engraved into the metal above it. The other three legs rose up and planted themselves on the sturdy floor.

Kergoth grinned from ear to ear, pointed at a box of explosives and shouted, "Hostiles!"

The defiler swung round and its cannon fired, the round ricocheted towards the target in a colossal pillar of black smoke and fire, setting anything it touched alight with sticky flames, the round exploded on impact and only the reinforced armour and shields saved the hull of the ship from rupturing. Kergoth grinned with mad pleasure and slammed his fist down on the release button, opening the trap door at the bottom of the pit and lifted the construct with the power of the warp, then let it plummet down to Earth fresh out of the forge, its legs closing in on its body like an immense spider. He turned with pure pleasure written all over his face, and said one word. "More."


	12. Chapter 12

A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.

Chapter One

"Incoming, target has a lock!"

"Launch photon pods, now!"

Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.

"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.

"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.

"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.

"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.

"Do we have _any_ escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.

A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.

"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.

"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"

"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"

"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."

"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."

When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.

The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.

The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.

Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.

"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.

"What better way to test our new device?"

"But it could self-destruct!"

"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."

"But who says we'll go _back _in time?"

"You'll have to trust my judgement…"

Chapter Two

"You ready, Will?"

Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"

"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.

They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.

"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.

As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…

Chapter Three

All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.

The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.

Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.

Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, _Independence Day, _John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…

Chapter Four

A small explosion carried across the ship as the custodian began its entry sequence and slowed to manoeuvre around the planets and their rings. Many looked up from what they were doing, they were too fast to recognise what it was from, probably just some fuel going off.

Lots of calls, the chairman of NASA, and various professionals travelled thousands of miles to examine the footage of the alien ship destroying their 6 million euro invention. There was lots of controversy to whether this could have actually been an alien ship, some thought it was just an especially large rock, some explained that the engines on the back were just rocks burning in their own atmosphere. Either way, the site was surrounded by news companies and the leaders of the western world were already trying to think of a solution, it was no secret that they were trying to give Russia and the middle eastern countries as little involvement as possible, and while their governments continued their pathetic squabbles and grudges, the construct grew ever closer, last seen on the satellite monitoring Pluto, the thing was examined in detail and it was confirmed that they were dealing with 'people' from another world, far more advanced than their own… as expected, of course. The people of Earth absolutely loved the stereotype and many were ready to welcome the beings with open arms as long as they didn't go all 'Independence Day' on them. The religious leaders of the modern world said little but knew I their hearts that something would go wrong, when one dared to speak their thoughts, they were overflowed by a torrent of anger and frustration at their piousness, the general message was; "Why do you continue to reach of one God when there are obviously more powerful beings who would deny His existence too?" But it was almost as if the religious leaders all over the world were uniting so they could speak with one voice, the extremists stopped and watched with suspicious eyes, the atheists laughed at them and told them where to go, the agnostics watched them get at each others' necks and looked forward to the arrival of the foreigners so they could feel less lonely.

Chapter Five

The custodian loomed over the watery planet of Earth, two indigenous species held their breath as the huge ship circled, the fist scouts were sent from the ship to investigate the radio signals, pollution clouds and dense light formations.

"Drone 1 and Drone 2 are in the air," Commander Farsight announced in the intercom, "descending now, time to find out what we're dealing with."

The two remora drones swooped down at 1800 mph; each was the size of a small plane and had a pair of burst cannons on the joints of each wing. They were stealth fighter drones and also had a markerlight on each of them and a pair of seeker missiles; the burst cannons were like Gatling guns but fired pulse instead and at a slightly lower rate. The markerlights were target locators to allow anything connected to the same link to get a good fix on an individual target. They were smaller than jets, faster and just as well equipped, even better, they were unmanned.

Down on earth, NASA detected them on radio and swiftly sent a message in Morse code on all frequencies and two jets to guide the way to JFK airport.

"Two Armed vehicles approaching, advising countermeasures", one of the drone controllers shouted.

"No! Follow them, co-operate, we don't want to start the meeting of two races with a bang", Farsight said calmly, "and if they do decide to pull some dodgy manoeuvre, we've got devastating weapons that will blow them to smithereens. Now, have we got a successful match on the species?"

"No, sir, not yet…"

The two drone fighters' shot across the Atlantic Ocean accompanied by both jets, they were making good time, but NASA was wary of the weapons and their purpose on this particular mission. Some wanted to shoot down the drones, but that was quickly denied as they didn't want to-quote, start the meeting of two races with a bang, unquote. People watched the LIVE feed from both tinted window stealth bombers guided the drones to the coast, which was rapidly approaching.

"Confirmation made, species identified, we are in the early 3rd millennium." The head of the Bask'n water caste announced.

"33, 000 years before the existence of our race," Farsight murmured to himself.

"What species?"

"Human."

Farsight's breath caught in his throat, "What planet is this?"

"Earth, AKA, Terra."

The entire ship was dumbfounded as they let the news sink in, on the screens, the fighters took multiple photos of humans far below getting on with their daily lives.

"This is CNN, I am Natasha Robinson, on today's top story, two robotic constructs have left the ship hovering above our atmosphere and are currently being led to JFK airport. After 18 hours of discussion, the American president has decided to allow the Russian Prime Minister stay to greet the 'aliens'. As well as Vladimir Azarov, the Russian Prime Minister and Aaron Morales our President, leaders from all over the world including North Korea have come to greet our guests. Just three religious officials have decided to travel, one being a cardinal from the Vatican, one a Sikh official, and another a famous Jewish Rabbi.

"The welcoming ceremony will include the classic welcome that has been used in many films in the last century, the world's leaders will stand in a semicircle around the visitors, the religious leaders standing in front of their respective countries. There will be a screen in the center of the semicircle which will hopefully provide an accurate representation of our culture, if you have any suggestion please don't forget to tweet or visit our face book…"

Packie watched the screen from his cold, clammy cell, the door had been left open but a prison guard with an electric baton was stood opposite each door, making sure the prisoners leaning out didn't try anything funny. The screen sat on a shelf at the end of the corridor, it wasn't exactly a plasma screen, but it was big enough to get the general idea, the volume was at the max and everyone watched with bated breath, the prison guards were trained to show little emotion, but kept one eye on the screen. Packie leaned so far out the door he was nearly falling out; there came a few frustrated shouts for him to move his head, but in a lot more colourful language. Packie sighed and crouched low, a screwed up ball of paper hit him on his closely shaved scalp, there was a yelp as the thrower was kicked in the shin by a guard and led back into his cell, but he didn't care, the screen was too fuzzy to make anything out from that far away anyway.

Packie glanced back to the corner of his cell, wondering if the child-sized _thing_ was still there. It was a bloated, gurgling, green-brown ball of sludge with small arms and two rows of sharp teeth, Packie figured it was either a test of his will power, a prank set by the guards, or that he was still hallucinating when the police officer's knee rammed into his head back outside the garage the day he was caught two months ago. It didn't seem to be there. There was a roar of approval as the CNN reporter- who the boys thought was super hot stuff- Natasha Williams announced that the Jets had broken off and the aliens were coming in to the airport. We watched with bated breath…

Chapter Six

"Guide them in," Farsight whispered to the drone controllers, "land in the centre of the lights on the ground."

"Amongst the humans?" the drone controller responded uncertainly.

"Affirmative, it seems they have organized a welcome party," he added with a sly smile.

"Roger that," both controllers responded with sharp smiles at their one and only true commander's subtle humour. He rarely expressed such emotion, so they were keen to make the most of it.

Many engineers on the decks commented on the technology visible on the screens from the cameras mounted on the Remora drones.

"Ready a devilfish and my personal bodyguard," Farsight announced, "I want two water caste diplomats and I want my battle suit ready in the back."

Two pathfinders sprinted down the hallways to comply with his orders, they were very fast sprinters, everybody gave them a wide berth as they headed to the cargo bay…

Both Remora Drones hummed to a halt at heads height, the leaders of the world craned their heads to stare into the red lights situated on the markerlights on each drone, cameras, the Tau gasped when they saw them up close, the human race frowned, not sure of what to make of it. They waited. And waited. The leaders began to murmur amongst themselves, but then! A loud roaring of engines as Farsight's devilfish activated its safety procedures. The landing 'legs' extended and the engines on either side swivelled so they were facing upwards and the vents that allowed it to hover were facing down.

The devilfish tuned 180 degrees and before it had even touched down, the ramp swung open. Twelve fire warriors rushed out in full armour. The humans were ready for this though and there were a hundred clicks as safeties were turned off and guns were pointed. The fire warriors paid no attention though as the first helmetless Tau stepped off the transport to greet the humans. They lowered their weapons and created a wide berth for Farsight and the two ethereals…

President Aaron Morales gasped as he came face to face with twelve long, black rifles. Humanoids dressed in body armour trained their guns on them; the famous rabbi instinctively stepped forward to protect his 'foolish' companions. The large transport ship had already startled them, and he didn't feel any safer with the red dots darting on the aliens armour from the laser sights equipped to the USMC snipers' rifles on the building behind him. _Great start _he grumbled to himself, and his mouth screwed up slightly at the explosion of flavour when he accidentally bit too deep into his strong mint. He quickly recovered. Then the two men stepped out, accompanied by a huge robot the size of three men, a bulbous chest, a weapon on one arm, a strange disc on its shoulder and a sword on its other arm.

Everything was quiet, the CNN newsreaders watched, the prisoners at Shawshank state detention centre watched, the professors from the astrological centre in Utah watched from the glass windows in the airport, the world had come to a standstill. People gasped as the fist blue men came out. The huge robot hung back and the two Blue men, about the height of the president, at about six foot, stepped forward and held out their hands…

There was silence, then the Russian Prime minister cleared his throat and stepped forwards to take the alien's hand, but the American President saw what was about to happen and got there first, subtly nudging the temporary 'ally' out of the way. The Tau frowned at this, but smoothly took the President's hand one by one, then shook the Russian's. The American was beaming, but the Tau could see it was very forced, for the news camera traversing the Tau transport behind, and for the news helicopter above.

The President nodded to one of his bodyguards, who pressed a button on the side of the large plasma screen television. To their dismay, the aliens looked fairly bored as they watched the video in total silence, absorbing the culture of this common foe, and the language. In their earpieces, the Tau ethereals were given a stream of Earth words to process, it was their talent to learn languages quickly for emergency communication with foreign peoples. The humans waited as the ethereals talked in their own strange, guttural language with far too many syllables to understand or even get a hint of what they were talking about. Then the ethereal cleared his throat and opted for a human greeting to put them at ease. "How do you do?" He croaked, his voice was hardly perfect and he said it far too quickly for casual conversation. The humans relaxed slightly and one leader chuckled quietly at the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

They then went round greeting each other, the huge robot staying still.

Farsight watched the commotion, studied their faces, spotted three humans studying him more suspiciously than others, their clothes reminded him of the ethereals but it was plain to see by the way they occasionally glared at each other that they were minor leaders of very different religions. Religion. That was the thing that would separate them.

The three leaders stepped forwards to study the robot, eyeing it suspiciously, the ethereals glanced uneasily at them and Farsight's bodyguard stepped in front of the religious Zealots to intercept them. "Allow us to introduce our founding leader." An ethereal announced. "Commander Farsight, overall war commander."

The body of the suit opened to reveal Farsight in a sitting position, dressed head to toe in extra battle armour, many markings on his face. He studied the humans without the aided vision of the battle-suit. Ministers of defence sized him up, then after a long pause the talks began.

Chapter Seven

A warp rift opened on the edge of the solar system, from earth it would take a day for it to be seen, but from Pluto the sight would have made any mortal go insane from the sight and the noise, which was like a club with the volume turned up LOUD, even from a thousand miles away. The fabric of reality rippled then tore apart, a lime green hole forced its way through the darkness and through it five or six huge living ships were launched through, and through the chunk of rock from one end to another. The immense pressure was way too much for the pathetic excuse for a planet, it was sucked halfway in and when it closed, the rift cut it in two, launching the surviving piece deep into the solar system so that two weeks later, after sling shooting around two or three planets, it would smash into the molten gas of the sun and cause a huge wave of heat to roar out in the direction of earth.

The sky went black as night, for the tiny organisms on the heat bathed surface of Venus, the sudden cold froze many scaly bacteria in place, the largest beings, small dust ridden spiders that fed on random deposits of hydrogen in the air wherever it could find them took the brunt of the change and let loose squeaks of pain at less that 0.001 hertz, chaos tentacles reached out and enslaved the organisms, already feeding off their supplies of life and supplying the ships with a source of fuel, within just ten minutes, the entire planet was covered in a cloud of rage, bacteria fought among themselves, ripped each other apart, the death rate rose incredulously, but not noticeably to human speculation, besides, theories of life on Venus had long since been abandoned. The whole planet was permanently redder, like a chilli ready to erupt in flames, the temperature rose exponentially and pockets of air exploded, destroying any neighbouring objects, including the SS Shame XI, a Mexican satellite launched just two months previously…

Within the first few weeks, the Tau had settled their ships in the desert in North Africa, integrated into society in different major cities all over the world. Their policies were not entirely approved of by the west so they based themselves mainly in Asia. The human governments seemed interested in involving them in their own disputes once they'd seen the practical demonstration of their weapons. The Tau soon realized that many of the white men were power hungry and the rest were either religious zealots or brutal dictators. When religious leaders preached that the guests were demons, the Tau certainly did not respond kindly, they fought back with accusatory words, hundreds of warriors cheered for the ethereal speakers and called for the execution of their pious hosts. Within a few weeks, they became a very controversial issue, many religious leaders called it a sign that judgement day was near, the ones who were not god fearing, or not _deluded,_ as the ethereals liked to phrase it, called it a wake up call from an ignorant society of optimists and idealists, ideas which were banned long ago in Tau society, all ideas but the Greater Good had been banned, only one idea would survive, introduce two or even more and there will only be war.

The blistering hadn't subsided, my entire arm was covered in cracked, swollen skin, the prison doctor told me to rub cold water on every half hour and apply cream at least four times a day, but I think he just wanted me to think I was going to get better, I saw the look of dismay when he saw it, as if it wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He examined it under a magnifying glass with a furrowed brow the depth of the Grand Canyon. He shook his head and prescribed me some kind of treatment for burns, didn't say anything about blisters on it. The inmates were acting weird too; I sat with three mates, huddled in a corner, while others stared at us with dead gazes, we decided then and there to apply for the military and as we dispersed, I showed myself to my cell while the guard stood by the corridor, staring dumbly into the barrel of his rifle, what was funny was that no-one took advantage of the situation, it was just too creepy.

17th May 2015, the same day the US withdrew all it's troops from abroad, Patrick decided to join the corps for the rest of his sentence, he was bored and desperately needed to be active, plus he was afraid the other inmates might turn on him at just a moments' notice, little did he know that he's be there for longer than a year, and little did the officers know that the skinny, rebellious ruffian would become a renowned war hero in the epidemic war to come.

Chapter Eight

Farsight stared across the cabinet at the members of the United Nations, flanked by two Honour Guards who had refused to relinquish their weapons on entry and stood guarding their leader. "The signs are clear", Farsight announced, "the enemy we fled from has followed us, for that, humans, I am sorry, I advise you gather your armies and prepare for total war."

"Hold up, you mean to say you brought an enemy to our planet," said the secretary of defence for the united states of America indignantly, and forgive me for saying so, but we've seen your technology and seen what it can do, so if you were running from this enemy of yours, doesn't that mean the enemy must be stronger, and if so, than how are we supposed to stop it?"

"Excuse me," the Spokesperson for the secretary of Foreign Affairs for The Russian Federation, "maybe we ought to let him speak."

"Oh for god sakes! This is not the time to start picking sides again, _Russia!_" the President of the US, Aaron Morales, re-elected because of his policies to ensure that all Americans keep all their rights, even in the presence of the visitors. "Wake up and smell the bacon! We should send them away and if their _enemy_ comes here, we should discuss peaceful negotia—"

"NO!" Farsight roared at the top of his lungs, which was about as loud as a rocket propelled grenade exploding on a slab of metal, the entire board jumped up in fright, he slammed his fists on the table and explained in a raised voice, "This enemy can not negotiated with, it can not be defeated in an arms race or a war of attrition, they are like the Al-Qaeda you face even today, they are like a disease, you need to destroy every last molecule before the death will stop, they can not be reasoned with, they reach out with long arms and grab everything within reach, and when they grab hold, they do not let go till everyone is DEAD AND ROTTING in the cusps of their hands! If we leave you WILL be doomed!"

The President gathered himself and spoke, "And if you stay?"

"You will _probably_ be doomed."

"Well isn't that reassuring", the Irish prime minister scoffed with a tired expression and drooped eyes.

Farsight stood and began to stride round the high roofed room, the Tau believe in the Greater Good", he began, "and we believe this is achieved by allying ourselves with any who might see the good in our aspirations, that is how we have always done it and it has worked damned well so far."

He continued round the semicircle, ascending the stairs till, he reached the members of the British Ministry of Defence, "We will fall in with your troops and utilize each others' skills to crush this enemy of superior strength."

"If I may interrupt you," exclaimed the US secretary of defence, "Several weeks ago, the United Nations was informed that the outlying rock, commonly referred to as a small planet; Pluto went off the map. Last Tuesday so did the rest of the solar system except from our neighbourhood sun. We managed to recover this video of the disappearance of Venus in progress." He turned and pressed a small blue button on his desk. The projector overhead whirred and the room turned to face the image at the front. What they saw was a sequence of unbelievable events, supernatural, impossible; a vast colony of ships leaking black smoke and dripping blood. It was a sped up progress, each second, half an hour passed, Venus turned as red as a tomato, moist, no longer solid, like a water balloon, then it burst from one side and turned black and wrinkled as blood poured in impossible amounts from the gigantic rift in the planets' base, it then shrivelled up and exploded like a watermelon, vast fragments of rock, bone and rock.

"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we now have not only a terrifying enemy to fight, but all space flights will now be all but impossible, what with the vast asteroid fields now covering our once peaceful solar system. How are we supposed to defeat such an enemy?"

"Through attrition," Farsight shot back, "our enemy feeds on death, hopelessness and loss, if we can hold out for enough time, the tide will turn…"

The meeting carried on at this pace throughout the night, an endless volley of opposite views, using each other's comebacks as ammunition.

Patrick's first week in the army was brutal, nothing he had expected, a number of Russian and British commanders had travelled to the US to teach them how to be the ultimate soldiers, with the threat of a large scale war ever present. His running skills were invaluable, but his mind was always elsewhere. _Not everyone's cut out to be a soldier _said the voice in his head. Patrick told it to shut up. His friends were always distracted. They had gone to train in Alaska where the temperatures were sub-zero and everything that wasn't covered in three layers of wool fell off. Morale was low, too law for new recruits, suicide was apparent. Patrick played poker with his new friends, normally it was banned, but now even the generals played it as an excuse to 'hone their minds'. Time moved so slowly; it was as if the cold had frozen everything. One morning Patrick awoke early and went outside to puff on a cigarette. The sky was dark as night even though it was eight in the morning. His hands shook and sweat froze as though they were freezing needles on his skin. A mound of snow weighed down the tent behind him. Across the camp, one musician was playing a lone violin; the sound reminded him of his old Xbox games set in WW2 about defiant Russians in the winter cold. He barely acknowledged those parts, thought they were stupid, that they wouldn't have time for such nonsense, that they should be killing people all the time. So naïve. The ground had faint tracks on it from the odd cargo truck packed with frozen goods; frozen vegetables, frozen meat, frozen guns. Another truck turned in about a hundred metres away on Patrick's left. The headlights were like exploding stars in the endless night, they cast welcome heat on Patrick's cheeks and the sound of the rumbling engine was a relief in the frustrating silence of the random icy plane, in the middle of nowhere. He found himself staring at the truck's tyres as it passed. In its' place in front of him, once it had turned the corner towards the canteen, there was a perfectly round stone, like endless black against the perfect white snow, it had no solid edges, it was perfectly round, it was an eye, was Patrick's conclusion, though when he felt it he knew no eye that was as hard as this, it was strangely warm and he felt his blood running in his feet again. He decided he would show it to his friends when they awoke and he started inside. He almost made it; as he turned the stone eye over in his hands, and a long oval of white, as clear as the snow around the orb appeared. It moved across the stones' surface with a strange serenity under Patrick's palm and seemed to _see _him,then the eye closed until it was just a black stone again and slid into his now warm pocket and stayed there.

It took some time for the Tau to integrate with human forces but soon they were covering each others' backs as they raided houses, secured objectives and fought the now decreasing numbers of rebels that threatened civilisation; they seemed to have been caught off guard and were retreating into their until it all finished when they could tell the world they had all been hallucinating and that they were the real rulers. They now experimented with popular culture such as music and video games and explored the virtues of human life, discovered their values, such as respect, love and achievement and mocked their disparity in the face of impossible odds, boasting to the humans of their incredible prowess in battle, causing various scuffles and a few fists to fly, to the surprise of the Tau who didn't expect them to have such a capacity for violence in this early stage of their existence. They were astounded by their charities and sometimes selfless careers, envious of the level of empathy they could feel, they experimented with religion and faiths, interested in the similarities and differences between their many current gods and their one future god.

They wondered why they were not all regarded as equals, how some lived in absolute poverty and others lived in huge mansions surrounded by precious metals and arrogant servants, they developed a basic trust with the lower class of the world and expressed their feelings frankly to the rich who refused to give to the poor, harassing them and asking rather rudely if they were a different species than the humans that believed in charitable giving and had such big hearts, filled with empathy. They argued against such saving graces as the bill of rights and laws which allowed larger holidays, or bigger salaries than others, and they praised successful communist states such as Cuba, but criticised North Korea for forgetting about it's population, who retaliated by threatening to send a nuclear bomb their way, causing a very heated feud. A lot of death threats and insults followed, mainly criticising how close minded the North Koreans were, which the Koreans twisted and fed to its' population as praise for their _beautiful, joyous_ state. On this matter all of humanity had the Tau's backing.

One such army base in southern Pakistan was a perfect example of this unity; a team of pathfinders had integrated with a British SAS squad; two perfect killing machines in one place, they were very much the same, they felt as important as each other, they worked with the same efficiency, the same speed, confrontations with Islamic extremist groups were not so much a challenge as a competitive game to take out the enemy first. But despite their snobbish nature, they were both very serious when it came to the fight and forgot about their petty differences with regular soldiers. The SAS squad leader's name was Duncan Stuart, the Tau Shas'vre, an individual who declined the chance to fight in a colossal battle suit when he was promoted more than five years ago, was called Bentu'vre, as he was wise and experienced, and Vre was his rank. "What is it like where you're from?" Asked the 40 year old Duncan in one of his rare conversations with Bentu'vre, who was 60 years old himself, 20 years older than the average Tau lifespan, but somehow hadn't lost any of his youthful virtues.

"Our world varies like yours does. Where we are based the land is hilly, with grass and mountains, elsewhere the ground is as dry as a lizards skin. Foul alien spores corrupt some areas; others are dotted with tombs here and there to compensate for sleeping machines. It is not a pleasant land, every day our defences are assaulted by hordes of creatures, every day thousands die on either side, which is nothing compared to the losses outside." He spoke with little emotion, but stared at his knees. Duncan dared to ask, "and outside?"

"Death, only death, there are tales of a human world upon which trillions die upon every year."

Duncan could barely believe it, but didn't want to argue so he left it at that.

Chapter Nine

They weren't ready, not ready for the ferocity of the first attacks, their troops weren't dispersed enough, there were not enough to cover the globe as the first rocks from destroyed planets fell, they were in fact cocoons for the enemy troops; cultists from 38,000 years in the future, savage, with small rifles that shot small rapid bursts of laser. What was most disturbing was that they were all human at some point, but their bodies had been ravaged by chaos, it took the earthlings too long to comprehend the enemy they were facing before they were overwhelmed.

North Korea, Pyongyang, in one of their artificial districts, littered with plain-faced individuals who were not allowed to speak for themselves and had seen nothing of the outside world. They looked up as they heard the faint roaring of the rock hurtling through the atmosphere, some pointed, others tried to continue as if nothing had happened, constantly afraid of the oppressive government. The roaring became unbearable, then rock smashed into the ground, not causing a crater nut instead shattering, impaling a number of people and leaving forks of rock stuck in the tarmac. Bayonets and flashes of light quickly cut down the rest. Later that day, North Korea appealed for help and for the first time in many, many years, foreign soldiers were allowed to cross the border into the world's biggest prison.

The entire world was panicking, riots were amok, martial law was in effect in most states, and the apocalypse was being preached in dozens of pious countries. Patrick had been moved to one of the worlds' most important assets, which was currently under siege by thousands of crazy cultists; London, England.

Patrick rose to attention as the officer in charge spilled out orders in a thick south London accent, barely decipherable. His insults when used against unruly marines were downright hilarious, words like "Knobber!" and "Bell end!" The English truly were terrible at insults. However he never went psycho with us, he stood his ground and looked us straight in the eyes, while he broke us down mentally. He was a prick, but we held a special kind of respect just for him, the kind that involved 'friendly' jives and pouring cans of beer over his head at two in the morning, rewarding us with two hundred push ups, while he went round and stood on each of the culprits' backs in turn. But it was all morale lifting stuff, no hard feelings.

The next morning, I woke in my small room. We were based in a prison, in cells with unlocked doors, I shared with two guys and they were quite spacious, which counted for nothing when you had nothing but plain grey walls to stare at if you couldn't sleep. In the corner was the small black orb. I had forgotten about it. It's eye hovered over me, staring, shrunk away when I glared back, grew when I lost interest. There was shouting and a crash as a table was flung over the railings outside and hit the solid concrete four floors down. The orb's eye grew, as if in alarm, then it seemed to stretch till the orb was three times it's original size, with a kind of thick tail on one end. It slowly wriggled towards me and I rose my knees to my hips on the metal chain link bed, with its' thin mattress. It stopped at the base of his bed, its' eye now the size of his foot, the entire body the size of an adolescent panda. It raised its' 'head' with the speed of a sloth and became as still as an old oak tree. Patrick slowly clasped his hands around its' warm exterior and lifted it as if he were examining a newborn baby. It seemed to look inside Patrick, looked into his soul, then the eye closed and it shrunk to the size of an apple, it's tail disappearing into its' inky dark surface, the eye closing. Patrick put it back in his pocket where it belonged. Where it _belonged_.

Patrick's first confrontation with the enemy was one to haunt him forever, it was an embodiment of the name the aliens had given them; Chaos. He set out into Twickenham in Richmond, where they'd managed to contain some of the threat thus far. There were a few big schools nearby, and an active high street, with a wide, empty road. They disembarked off a military train at Twickenham station and sprinted up the stairways on either side. Five teams of six, each equipped with state of the art Swiss weaponry. Patrick ran the last few metres of the bridge walkway despite his heavy armour, and then successfully vaulted the barrier. They were very well disciplined, they first secured the station and a team set up defences there and stayed put in case they needed a quick getaway. The other four teams spread out. Patrick's team headed down one of the narrowest roads away from the main high street, securing and clearing large houses and newsagents along the way. Some people were even still living here despite the warnings to evacuate to the inner city. So far the loss of life was at 1,500,000 in the UK _alone. _They turned left onto a fairly long suburban stretch and spread out along the road. Fires crackled on either side and the sky was a dark, moody gray. There were bodies, but they were either dismembered or burnt unrecognizable, however, they were all clearlydamaged by the rocks and not the bastards themselves.

They reached a small junction where a separate road on the left curved round a corner. It didn't look promising; it was pitch black, fires roared in silence, broken furniture blocked it off; two houses had collapsed onto the road, covering the street in bricks, glass and tiles. Worse, they had found where all the bodies had gone. They were on sharpened wooden poles, wrapped around lampposts, some were hanging by their spinal cords, and others were still alive… Patrick couldn't stand it any longer; he bent over and heaved. He had never seen anything like that, not in the fatal shooting of his parents and younger sisters, not in the famous US prison massacre of 2014. They carried on and approached the school. This was worse; teenagers and adults had been flung over the railings, the gates had been decimated. We stooped over the wreckage of the wrecked iron gates and proceeded to enter the school through the once automatic double doors.

It was a mess, chairs were everywhere, some melted, others welded to unlikely surfaces, such as windows, there was a smell of burnt plastic and there was a rainbow coloured liquid all over the floor; petrol. We secured the huge school room by room; there were hundreds, as we continued down the infinite corridors towards our objective; the playing fields in a boxed off section of the school. It was unsafe to go round to the fences surrounding the field as the rocks were falling like rain and the area was being pounded by heavy mortar fire. There was a screech as a burning cultist with a huge meat cleaver leapt out of a room way down the corridor and flew straight through a plane glass window, it turned its head to spot us just as it passed through, a wretched expression on it's face as it went, its nose was huge, with boils and one nostril several times bigger than the other. Its mouth was tiny, clamped by its teeth, which hooked through its lips. Another followed, this one completely focussed on its _playmate, _large, tubby, with a gasmask and a spiky club on the end of a sleeve which looked like it belonged to a girl's dress, except the yellow flower patterns were now dark red and shredded.

_Poor taste anyway, _Patrick heard himself, and then scolded himself with some very rude words. They continued down the corridor at a quicker pace now, as the rooms got more and more grimy, burnt out and were filled with more meaningless symbols. No longer checking rooms, they reached the stairs and bounded up, now they were sprinting down a torn carpeted part of the school.

"Cover!" the sergeant roared as a couple dozen mutated humanoids surged towards them from round the corner. But there was no cover, so they ran, fortunately none of the creatures had projectile weapons. Once they reached the first corner and had but a bit of distance between them, they turned and faced them, rifles looking back at them. The devices in their earpieces were beeping fast; the distress beacon was nearby. They opened fire, shots raining down on their infected bodies, shredding them limb from limb, every shot had a target, was planned and hit its mark. They backed up quickly till they reached a junction, one corridor on either side, one behind us. Suddenly, there was a humungous crash as a meteor ricocheted through the school and slammed half a metre into the wall at the end of the corridor to our right, while the creatures continued to push forwards on their left, the rock shattered, peppering them with rocks, one shard shredding a marines' necks, killing him automatically. "Back up!" the British sergeant shouted in their ears amid the deafening RUT-RUT-RUT of the 5.56 rifles. They ran backwards, their feet pattering on the carpet. But behind them another swathe of rabid freaks bundled round a corner, tripping over each other, stray cleavers and maces decapitating mutants wherever a cultist wasn't careful. There were now hundreds of them, literally in such a large mound that their heads reached the ceilings. They closed in gradually, Patrick was sweating violently, and then he turned his head and in desperation kicked a classroom door open. "In here!" He roared over the gibbering mound of no-brainers. The squad rushed in and Patrick shut it behind them, pushing back against the swarm. The others rushed to grab a few tables and prop them against the door. Private Kelly scanned the room and spotted the group of youths in the corner, a mutilated soldier with a distress beacon beeping away in his chopped off hand, a dozen dead mutants lay dead in a circle around them. They quivered with fear, holding the deceased monsters' weapons; the ringleader pointed a chrome glock at the blue door, a determined look on his face. He had a long scar running down his face, one eye was scrunched up, his head was burned where there would be hair and his eyes were bleak; he looked like one of them.

"Finally!" cried one of the boys, who was carrying a metal softball bat, "We've been hiding here for hours."

"Give us a hand!" Patrick roared back, the door was heaving so much; the center of it was bulging inwards. Four of the young lads added their weight to the resistance. The man who was scanning crossed the room and smashed the window, below which, the side of the school next to the football grounds had collapsed, forming a makeshift stairway. Artillery shells slammed down outside ceaselessly, creating an earthquake, causing the school foundations to rumble.

"Climb out the window!" the sergeant roared. The squad rushed away from the door and through the window. There was a short moment of confusion from the crowd outside the door as they stopped pushing against the entire door but instead filed through the open doorway. Their numbers had grown considerably, so that when they moved, various mutants were pushed into and through the wall, creating holes, and finally made the wall collapse, causing the upper floor room to collapse too because of all the vibrations. Patrick slid down the crumbled tower and landed at the bottom, assisting the hooded teenagers. They ran as soon as they were down, stumbling as the shells exploded like C4 around them. The mutants were much slower out there, tripping and crying out in frustration, fighting through random blind fire. A shell landed in a house just behind the squad, causing a huge explosion, making glass and bricks fly everywhere. A chunk of concrete slammed into the back of their sergeant's head just as they had started to put some distance between them and the pursuing horde.

Patrick turned immediately when he heard the dull thunk of concrete colliding with flesh and bone. He almost slipped as he rushed to retrieve their squad leader and haul him over his shoulders before the creatures could devour him. The rest of the squad swore and opened fire, even utilising an under slung grenade launcher, causing a horrific gory explosion, which led to the front lines of the horde to cover their eyes and cough, slowing down enough so that the hundreds that were sprinting behind them crashed into them head on. With a hundred daemonic screams, the rush slowed to a snail pace train of confused, mangled cultists. The squad rounded the corner to the road that led to the high street; the gang of teenagers had already reached the station on the bridge and were vaulting the barricades; the guarding soldiers barely flinching, never taking their eyes off the sights on their mounted heavy machineguns. Their focussed gaze- albeit sweat drenched foreheads- turned to shock and fear as the horde rounded the corner after the fleeing squad, there were so many of them, at least two storey high, climbing over each other, the slow decimated by the strongest, causing them to fall to the bottom and get crushed, culminating in a mess of screams, crunching of bones and heavy footfalls.

Then the armed cultists reached the front of the group.

They opened fire; red lasers scorching Patrick's arms, missing by millimetres, thrown off because the enemy didn't have time to aim with the mad savages closing down upon them from behind. Instead they adopted the unreliable method of 'spray and pray.' This involved pointing the barrels in the general direction of the enemy, while full out sprinting despite their legs of molten lead, running through the pain. Eventually they scored a kill in the shape of one of the British soldiers; the thin beams of dark red light scorched through sinews and muscle structure, creating three small holes, two of which punctured his heart and left lung, they almost went all the way through, apart from the ribs which merely sizzled in the intense heat, causing bile to rise in Patrick's throat. He gagged and tears seeped out of his eyes, a voice in his head roared at him, tormented him, and called him a pathetic weakling. But then the bile disappeared, and then the voice became muffled to a strangled whisper. The slug in his pocket grew and encapsulated him in a membrane under his clothes, invisible to others, causing any shots that hit him to rebound back and shoot through the shooters' barrels, causing mini explosions, eliminating the threat. The membrane then withdrew back into his pocket and the thing concentrated on keeping him focussed. He was dumbstruck at first, then in his mind, grateful as he passed the unconscious sergeant over the barricade at the station, then vaulted it himself, allowing the heavy gunners to open fire. The gun shook a bit at first, then there was a muffled rattling inside as the first rounds entered the chamber, then the gun roared into life, like a lion breathing fire. Each bullet brought an enemy to its knees, the spray created a near impenetrable wall of lead. But it wasn't enough and all at once we were running again, the creatures snapping at our heels, pushing past each other to get a bite out of our meaty shoulders. The train started to leave and the onboard heavy machineguns roared into life. We jumped on as the train sped away down the tracks.

Patrick hauled himself through once they were well away from the station and slammed the door shut. The other squads sat in groups, slumped; humans hadn't experienced so much death in a warzone for decades. They sat in shock, in revulsion of the amount of people they had killed, because even though they were savages, they were all humans once. The sergeant was woken, at which point he screamed, hollow, scared screams, shouting "Blood, blood, blo-o-od." Tears welled in his eyes, parting on his stubble, everyone was afraid. The teenagers were shaken, frozen, they must have been in the school for hours, the dead soldier in the classroom must have protected them but got overwhelmed, before Patrick left he had made sure to grab the man's dog tags.

He opened his fist and stared at the name; L. Peterson, a US navy Seal symbol on the top right corner, a Jewish star on the bottom right. He promised himself that he would mention Peterson to his commanding officer when he returned to be debriefed. He tried to cast the memories of death from his mind as he put his hands together as if was praying and cried into them. Again, he forgot about the strange black creature in his pocket. He didn't have any friends in this unit, but the ones left, including the sergeant when he calmed down, went to sit next to him, somewhat protectively, as they knew the sergeant wouldn't be here if not for him. They say the friends they make in the army are the best friends you will ever make; the friends you make in the army are friends for life. But right now, Patrick only wanted to see Will.

Chapter Ten

The first stage of the invasion was quick, brutal, the death toll was well into its millions, and they were only just getting started. However, now that the Tau was here, the chaos forces were in for a bit of a surprise.

Bentu'vre and Duncan ascended the steady sloped of sand with deadly ease, they were just as fast in the deserts of Libya as they were in the cobbled streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. They were in a hotspot for meteor drops, all they had to do was place a beacon in the center of the drops and get the hell out of there. The US government had something special in mind, something they had only used twice in hostility, something they had anticipated throughout much of the 20th century, something that would show the enemy that they weren't quite as primitive as they thought they were… you'll see.

Once the pair reached the crest of the dune they stopped, lay flat on their bellies and Duncan produced a monocular from his kit. The terrain was flat from here on in, the previous dunes flattened by the force and regularity of the meteors. A few weeks ago, the dune would have dropped suddenly, with light gray rocks at the base of the cliff a hundred feet below. Now however, the flat desert was only 25 feet below since the sand had been distributed evenly over the space from the wind created by meteors burning through atmosphere. They had stopped falling as regularly two days beforehand, but a telescope had spotted an even larger cluster approaching at high speed from the direction of Mars.

The desert was covered in figures; dehydrated, dragging their limbs through the deep sand, many mounds of dead mutants with too much clothes, or too little which had resulted in fatal, agonising burns. Primitive walls of shattered meteor had been formed, many holes and crevices in the walls cramped with sheltering cultists. The heat seemed to drive the beast out of them as they strove for a breeze. Surprisingly, their were engineers down there; mutants with welding masks and blowtorches. Duncan used his skills of reasoning to estimate the amount of hostiles in the gorge below. "I'd say roughly 2,200 tangos, we're going have to use a flare… and we'll also need a getaway plan." Duncan shifted in the sand, trying to get into a comfortable position with his bag slung over his back, unbalancing him. He grunted with frustration and stowed the small, camouflaged device, "I prefer clearing buildings."

"Remain steadfast," Bentu'vre murmured, adjusting the scope on his rail rifle. The rail rifle was practically a handheld cannon/ sniper rifle. He had modified it specifically to leave no trail from the projectiles it fired, and to make nearly no noise whatsoever, in exchange for its armour piercing value; now it couldn't punch holes in jeeps anymore, only flak jackets. Each round was as valuable as a human sniper rifle, each owner of a rail rifle probably had a kill count of about three hundred individuals, and usually had disabled at least five vehicles in their life time with pure resourcefulness and tact. The owner was widely renowned in the fire caste as one of many legendary shooters, unmatched in most aspects, perfect accuracy, particularly a Shas'vre, especially one who refused a battle suit.

A freezing breeze washed through the gorge below, then rushed through Bentu'vre and Duncan, they winced but it wasn't something they hadn't experienced before; Duncan in the frozen wastes of Siberia and Greenland in winter, and Bentu'vre on the -60 degree nights on his home planet… and that was on a good day! The mutants on the other hand cried out in pain; they already hated this planet.

"You ready?" Duncan asked with a slight grin on his face, his trigger finger itchy.

Bentu'vre nodded, then they both rose to a crouched position and picked off the stragglers with unmatched ease, each shot entered their temples and cut off all feeling immediately, moving their barrels to combat the 18 mph winds. They rushed the camp, killing all who got in their way, both equally efficient with their ammunition and their combat knives; except Duncan's was short and had a practical serrated edge, while Bentu'vre's looked ceremonial and was long and sharp, meant for stabbing and lopping heads off with the ease of a samurai blade. Then, in the middle of their silent bloodbath, Duncan caught his battle brother's attention. A large figure was looming over a small group of cultists; the figure was at least 8" in height and almost half that in width due to heavy armour. The huge warrior was holding a huge sub machine gun; which looked more like a cannon sized heavy machine gun. It was holding its helmet by its side, which was horned and had both eye slits like an eagle, and a breathing grille that looked like a round triangle, which somehow made it look more terrifying. The monster the suit belonged to was wearing a sly grin, eyes red as a hot chilli shone like stars in the darkness. Bentu'vre stood still as a gargoyle, the monster stared back through the pitch-black darkness. The monster nodded at Duncan, with a sneer that made Bentu'vre furious suddenly. He roared at the monster, startling the cultists and charged him very unprofessionally, so Duncan did the only thing he could think of and grabbed him by the collar of his armour, stopping him in his tracks before he could do something stupid, he was sure the sword with spikes on its side in the monster's holster wasn't just for show. The monster laughed in a deep tone and said something in a foreign language, then put his helmet on. "You do not even know what you are dealing with, puny mortal," the creature sniggered, clearly enjoying the moment; keen to hear their last defiant line before their demise, they were always _so _creative! But Duncan did something that hadn't been done in thousands of years, something deemed punishable by death by the Imperium; it was the last thing he could think of doing, he pulled down his pants and stuck it in his direction, while flipping him off, then pulled them up and sprinted the other way with a confused Bentu'vre in pursuit. The monster stared after them for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened, and then roared with blinding fury and gave chase.

They swerved round walls of meteor rock and slumped low behind a mound of sand formed by a recent meteor. "What was that?" Bentu'vre demanded, shaking his head.

"Improvising," Duncan panted with a sly grin.

"Did you pinpoint the target?"

"Affirmative. "

"Where."

Duncan glanced with great embarrassment at the –flare in the middle of the camp; a quarter mile away. Bentu'vre swore in his native language. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes."

They stood still as statues for just a moment, eyes wide, then rocketed up the slope. The pursuing mutants cocked their heads at this sudden change of tactics, but thought little of it and gave followed them in their arrow straight path as far away from the clearing as possible.

Duncan's breathing was heavy, still moving at a flat out sprint to escape the impending doom that was to cover a ten-mile radius. They were not going to make it. "Dig!" Bentu'vre cried. They'd lost the mutants and dug like dogs; once they had a hole big enough, Bentu'vre extended a sheet of thick lead over the hole; used to defend against sandstorms, but should have the same effect on hydrogen bombs if in a sturdy position. There was a dull thump far away. Mutants stopped looking for them and ran screaming, then the loudest bang they had ever heard almost shattered their eardrums. The ground shook, as if they were being shaken by a giant which was using the earth as a colossal bowling ball, the lead sheet glowed white hot and melted the sand in contact with it. Duncan's skin, not used to temperatures so high ended up burying his face in Bentu'vre's arm; Bentu'vre didn't pull away. The deafening roar subsided and Bentu'vre used the butt of his gun to push the cover away, singeing the black paint in the process. Duncan squinted up at the night sky, coloured crimson, toxic smoke filled the air so Duncan wore his gas mask and Bentu'vre pulled on his helmet. Random fires burned, a mushroom cloud rose steadily into the air, such devastation, no matter the circumstances, was nothing to rejoice about. They turned around, and headed north.

It was a huge explosion, a signal to humanity on that terrible day; Monday, August 6, at 8:15 a.m., 1945, a similar, not quite so big bomb was dropped, paving the way to humanity's demise. It was a symbol that there would only be war and death, there would be no more peace; from that day forward, no one would be free again. Kergoth the Lord of Night watched the mushroom cloud grow from orbit, he was not shocked in any way, rather, this is what he had been waiting for, it was the signal that he should take things up a notch, the cultists were being pushed back, the enemy were adapting to them, using the right strategies to purge them in their thousands, then eject them into space via planes that flew just inside atmosphere. He turned and headed through an automatic door, which creaked and hissed as it opened, making a gouge in the floor deeper still. His footfalls were heavy, his armour creaked and motors controlling his blood flow spun like loose rotors on a helicopter, a bubble of septic flesh popped on his face, which he smacked with frustration; by praying to one God of truth, it seemed the others took notice too.

He turned and headed to the cargo bay, where clusters of cultists were being loaded into hundreds of small escape pods for atmosphere entry. He sauntered through a derelict part of the ship, a pair of doors were wide open and red light seeped out, as he passed, there was huge noise, his eardrums rattled, he felt his entire body shake and madness threatened his mind, then he passed and the noise went away.

He approached a row of crates by a pit in the cargo bay. A technician in power armour stood taking notes on a checklist.

He turned and saluted, used to seeing authoritarians wander through and taking care to show respect to avoid getting trodden on.

"At ease, Sabotan, what is it you wanted to show me?"

"Ah-ah! Stand back, you will be very happy with your loyal servant", the technician smirked with a grin that opened his cheeks like an extended fleshy maw. He lifted a power claw towards the pit and there were a series of clicks as the cogs in his modified claw communicated with whatever was lurking in the darkness. There was a shriek in response and a huge metal claw rose from the pit, as wide as a girder, sharp as a meat knife, and stabbed the floor, then pulled the rest of itself up; two more claws assisted in pulling a huge metal box over the edge, complete with a cannon on its front and a helmet engraved into the metal above it. The other three legs rose up and planted themselves on the sturdy floor.

Kergoth grinned from ear to ear, pointed at a box of explosives and shouted, "Hostiles!"

The defiler swung round and its cannon fired, the round ricocheted towards the target in a colossal pillar of black smoke and fire, setting anything it touched alight with sticky flames, the round exploded on impact and only the reinforced armour and shields saved the hull of the ship from rupturing. Kergoth grinned with mad pleasure and slammed his fist down on the release button, opening the trap door at the bottom of the pit and lifted the construct with the power of the warp, then let it plummet down to Earth fresh out of the forge, its legs closing in on its body like an immense spider. He turned with pure pleasure written all over his face, and said one word. "More."

Chapter Eleven

Patrick had, what he considered, a strange thing for hair. He had never had a proper relationship before, only a childish 6-year-old fantasy about running away with a girl with light brown hair. He wanted one, but had never made an effort and hadn't thought about girls for more than three years now, but when Private Kathryn Angelo marched into their war tent and reported for duty, his jaw dropped- figuratively of course. She was medium height, about 5"8", slightly smaller than Patrick (which was important for him), light brown-auburn hair; which was tied back in a bun, soft features, with the lightest blue eyes you've ever seen.

He found her hair most eye catching; somehow she was able to pull off a bun and still look relatively 'sexy'. Of course, that wasn't what she was trying to do, and she wouldn't exactly get on the front cover of Vogue, not that he knew much about that. And she would look better with make-up. _Seriously, you were a man a minute ago, what happened? Did you suddenly turn into an eight-year-old girl? _He scolded himself. Kathryn was assigned a bed by the sergeant, at the very end, which he pushed away from the boys and near the canvas, allowing her some privacy from our prying eyes. One of the mates leaped over the bed and laid an arm around me while I watched her, "Get in there," he whispered with his cockney accent.

"Piss off," I retorted, but couldn't help grinning, then I remembered what had happened at the school, and I had this terrible vision of what could very easily happen; they could all die, and when people die it is always sudden. There's never any time to cling on to life, it always seems so meaningless in the grand scheme of things, Patrick was never too dramatic about that sort of thing, he'd never believed in a greater power, just that when you die… that's it, you're dead and you always will be. But now he questioned the universe as if it were an indigenous life form. How could the universe just let go of their lives, all their hopes and dreams, gone? That sliver of hope, that they would escape their fate… extinguished? He didn't know why he was getting so spiritual, he guessed that that was what happened when people you know die, he remembered those three red hot shots punch holes in that boy's back, some part of him wished it was him there, he certainly would've deserved it, _shut up. _He was a waste of space, a low life, and an adrenaline junkie, _Shut Up!_ Weak, Worthless, a waste of oxygen, not suited to fighting alongside such selfless people… _SHUT UP!_

He flounced down on his bed and sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he regretted everything he had done since he'd ran away from his home for a life of petty crime. He looked at his life and thought about everything he could've done instead. The soldier who'd sat next to him looked uncertain, "er, you okay mate?"

No response. He shrugged, rose and went to lie down on his own bed. Patrick turned around on his pillow and found himself facing Kathryn; she looked afraid, very afraid. _Is this what happens to men in war? _She thought, she didn't sleep well that night.

On patrol the following morning, Patrick checked his watch with a yawn, it was 04:30, yet it was already light outside. They walked two by two, a metre between the soldier beside each other, ten between them and the soldiers in front and behind them. Kathryn approached from behind and had a few words with the cockney guy behind me, and then they switched places. "You okay, now?" she asked in a South-west London accent.

"Hmm?" Patrick mumbled, determined not to 'remember'.

"You were crying last night," she answered with a creased forehead.

"No I wasn't."

"Humph" she snorted.

"What?"

"You don't have to be embarrassed, you know!"

"'Bout what?"

"Oh for Christ's sake!"

She shook her head and we carried on in silence, her hands gripped her rifle loosely, but the straps on her helmet were tight around her jaw, Patrick turned away and stared at the city skyline, at the burning buildings surrounding Putney, the trees were shrivelled husks, a quarter mile behind them, every shop on Putney high street was filled with tents; some used as command posts, others were fortified as barracks', the exchange was being used as a vast space for camping tents, where various fires sputtered, and rationed meat burned to black crispy cocoons. The earthquakes caused by distant heavy artillery had shattered the glass in most buildings. Other windows had been smashed to prevent them breaking and peppering the troops with lethal razor sharp shards. There was a bleak, eerie atmosphere. There were a few abandoned cars and a double-decker bus had been pulled onto its side and dragged onto the bridge as a blockade, with just enough space in between a pair of Volkswagens for a convoy of tanks to pass through, but that gap was blocked by an electronic gate that only responded to electronic tags on military vehicles, otherwise they had to be opened by several men.

The bridge was visible from the path, even from there Patrick could see Machinegun emplacements behind, in front of and inside the bus, an array of snipers in the tall apartment building near the church on the Putney side, and a heavily guarded checkpoint on the other side of the bridge, Putney had been cordoned off from a section of north London, as the meteors fell unpredictably, and there were always unguarded, populated spots, since the populace of London was forced to stay in a military zone because of the tendency for the enemy to attack the weak and unprotected.

"I was in artillery, you know," Kathryn said out of the blue.

"Oh really?" Patrick responded, genuinely interested, but tired.

"I carried the mortar, weighed a ton."

"Where were you using it?"

"Afghanistan, got a couple jeeps with it."

Patrick felt so inadequate amongst these veterans, everyone had experienced the theatre of war before, and this was his first time. He sighed and craned his head to stretch. He spotted something in the fire-choked clouds; a dark red shadow falling, it was heading for the bridge a few hundred metres ahead. He listened closely and could hear it whistling as it fell, the air filtering through the gaps in its carapace. He stopped, and Kathryn stopped too.

"What is it?" She asked.

Patrick raised the ACOG scope on his rifle to his right eye and watched the huge mechanical spider descend at a frightening speed. "Hostiles!" he roared with every fibre of his being, his tonsils shaking violently in his mouth. The entire patrol found cover behind trees and in the embankment on the left side of the path. Patrick jumped down waist high into the Thames and crouched till it was shoulder high, ignoring the freezing temperatures and the dead fish, which brushed past him from tributaries far from London's rotting, filthy river.

"Give me a target!" the sergeant yelled.

"Incoming on the bridge!" Patrick responded just as the mechanical spider slammed into the tarmac of the bridge. It was barbaric, painted black with six spider-like limbs, a pair of machine gun barrels on one 'arm', a missile launcher in the other, and in the center of the metal box on legs, a cannon made out of a golden demon's head carved from gold. The monstrosity swivelled left, then right on its axis, then turned to face the ten man squad, it didn't hesitate or study them, it fired all weapons. Dust was kicked up as two 'reaper autocannons' roared into life, thundering and kicking as hundreds of large projectiles roared through the barrels and undermined the various roots and rocks of the beaten path, the enemy was hidden in the dust, and then there was a screaming sound as the spider thing fired its missiles, forcing Patrick to dive underwater, taking two men with him by the scruffs of their necks. There was a blaze of orange, silence, and then loud rattling as the soldiers started to return fire. Patrick surfaced with Kathryn in one hand and another American called Norman in the other. They were all drenched, their helmets were loose, Kathryn had lost hers in the depths of the murky waters and the strap had ripped off Patrick's on a rock weathered sharp by the concentrated pollution. They picked themselves up and joined the counterattack, moving up as a unit, throwing grenades at the armoured unit and smoke grenades down the path, though they suspected it wouldn't make much difference against the opponent by the rate of fire the autocannons fired at. Their only advantage was that the thing could only fire at one thing at once, except it wanted to fire at all of them and kept switching targets as they constantly changed positions, Patrick realised that situations like these were why they ran a lot in basic training. The thing suddenly stopped firing as it turned to face a pair of tanks on the bridge, and one approaching from the other side. The tanks fired and the thing actually stumbled slightly. Then it did something unexpected; its leg reached out to its left and slammed into the bridge, holding onto it with a vice grip, then swivelled round on the spike on the end of the leg so it was hanging over the side, inverted its body and other legs, then planted another in the underside of the bridge, then continued to crawl along the underside far too fast for the tanks to react and emerged on the northern side of the bridge as Patrick's squad watched in horror.

"Fall back!" their sergeant cried. They didn't need telling twice as the automaton fired its main cannon, obliterating the supports in the middle of the bridge, the three tanks and their occupants. Patrick sprinted with his weapon in hand, stopping only to make sure no one had been left behind. They stopped when they were clear of the checkpoint and stopped to catch their breaths in an abandoned boathouse. They had lost four men, only Patrick, the sergeant, Norman, the cockney, Kathryn and one other remained. They headed back to the exchange, on edge, to catch their breath and feel nervous while explosions rocked the steel framework.

Duncan wandered through the ravaged city, Putney had been laid to waste over the last month or two, his home was shattered, walking through the old shops he used to go to, shuffling through the modernised entrance of the church, then into the older, gothic section, he approached the cross with a replica of Jesus hanging from it. Duncan gasped, then fell to his knees, the church had changed over the last ten years since he'd last been there, rows of angels had been built along the walls and leading to the cross, but they had toppled and the stain glass windows had shattered inwards, leaving the stories in tatters. He closed his hands together and promised his master that he would not forget, he was sure he heard an answer, he was so sure. Despite what people had said, he had never been tempted to give up on the one true God. He prayed, he begged for forgiveness; for his crimes. He wept inside in the face of His glory and mercy. Because of Him, he had never felt alone, because he knew that no matter what, someone loved him, it had been too long since he'd prayed to God…

He left the church with his head held high and studied the crumpled stalls that sometimes dotted paved space outside, there were only a few burnt strawberries, old candy and ashen pastries left, even though it had been named the most polluted high street in London, he still saw the beauty. He was a dying breed, and it looked like his home was dying too, it was never a sprawling paradise, but it was his home. He exhaled, then turned and headed for the exchange, where Bentu and his squad were waiting.

Patrick was the first to rise from under the covers, Kathryn had seen one of the men blown into five pieces by the autocannon so she was shaken and obviously wasn't making an appearance anytime soon. _Maybe Afghanistan wasn't as bad as this_ he thought hopefully, and then scolded himself with some very rude words. He started the fire and started frying his ration of bacon and eggs, the smell quickly waking the sergeant and the cockney, as if they had special receptors that sensed bacon and eggs, even if they'd been through hell, they were up in seconds and joined Patrick under the domed roof. There was another explosion, Patrick winced, and tightened his grip on his side arm. There was a hand on his shoulder and a 40-year-old man kneeled down next to him and asked, "What's cooking?"

The sergeant took one look at the symbol on the man's cap and shot up with a salute.

"At ease", the man said. Now I recognised the emblem, it read, 'Who Dares Wins' in capitals below a winged sword, he was an SAS, the British Special Forces. According to the British soldiers he'd know, past and present, they were the most hard-line, badass soldiers to walk the planet. The name tag on his shoulder read 'Duncan', then a full stop and a faded sequence of letters that would be his surname. The man flinched as another close explosion echoed through the building. Patrick spotted a squad of armour clad warriors enter the building. He hadn't seen much of the Tau in person and they carried an aura of power about them, especially these. They wore black armour with a red circular emblem on the chest, a red compact backpack, red helmet and burgundy fabric trousers under practical black boots and armour guards over their thighs. The armour looked thick enough to survive a direct shot from a sniper rifle. Each of them carried a bulky rifle; that was rectangular in its overall shape, but with a handle and trigger below the barrel and an under slung grenade launcher on each. Except for the one in front, this one had a long rifle, longer than a sniper rifle, with two barrels -which looked more like simple tubes- leading to a large square metal hole where they joined. The others had helmets on, but he was holding his in his free hand, his face looked experienced, covered in scars and battle damage, and the signature vertical line between his eyes that replaced a nose.

They spread out and slowly made their way towards Duncan, Duncan glanced back and beckoned to them. They ducked as explosions rocked the exchange, causing dust and marble to fall. Duncan pulled a large case off his back and set it down with a thump, waking Kathryn and Norman. "Mortar, as requested." He opened it and there it was, a big green tube, with a belt of shells, at least twelve of them… they looked heavy. Patrick tested the weight of the mortar.

"Okay, Patrick, your job is carrying the mortar, thanks for volunteering," the sergeant said, grinning at Duncan. Patrick scowled and dumped the mortar back in its case. Norman smirked from inside his sleeping bag. Kathryn yawned and sat up in the evening sunlight that was shining sleepily through the windowpanes. "Morning", Duncan scoffed, startling her somewhat. Patrick grabbed the shells and dumped them on her lap, "You were in artillery, weren't you? That's your job now."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Duncan muttered. Patrick was about to tell him where he could stick his chivalry, when Kathryn intervened.

"It's fine, honestly, besides, he would be too weedy to load a mortar properly," she added with a grin. The sergeant laughed at this, then reached for the spatula and turned the food over. The Tau sat a couple metres away, the leader with the rail rifle pointing a finger at them and saying a few words in a complicated language to them. He hovered among the group, his eyes meeting Duncan's. Duncan sighed, and then introduced Bentu'vre to the group.

Meanwhile, Patrick and Kathryn started getting their gear together, Patrick putting the rifle on its sling around his neck, and strapping the mortar round his chest tightly so it stayed in place on his back. It still made him hunch over though. He tested the weight of a shell while Kathryn put the belt round her waist. Each of them weighed a ton and he realized he only had it slightly worse than her. He noticed she still didn't have a helmet and her hair was still loose, _better than the bun._ He undid the straps on his helmet and offered it to her, partially out of kindness but also because he was shaved and hair can be fatal when it gets in the way. She smiled her thanks and tied her hair back again, strapping the helmet on.

Another explosion rocked the exchange and the sergeant laughed nervously, "Sounds like it's getting closer." He remarked with a crooked smile. The Tau were on their feet, their heel claws no longer planted in the ground but hovering as they ascended on the balls of their feet, ready to flee. Bentu glared at the entrance. Duncan snapped his neck backwards, eyeing the smashed automatic doors, which had been sparking constantly ever since they had turned the power back on a couple days ago. There was another rumble, but this was heavier and brief, like a massive footstep. "Quick, find cover!" Duncan hissed and both teams immediately dispersed into the supermarket behind them, The sergeant, the cockney and Patrick disappeared among the empty wine racks, watching the entrance nervously, Kathryn and the one Patrick hadn't learnt the name of jumped behind a counter and peered through the gaps between the slats. The Tau hid behind rows of shelves lined with vegetables and frozen meat. There was another rumble, then another. Then, like a wraith hovering through a haunted mansion, the spider creature appeared in the doorway. Everyone shuddered, Patrick's heart suddenly started beating like a drum as he realised Norman was still trying to get some sleep in his sleeping bag. It was too late; the spider reached forwards with two mechanical legs and tore the front of the shopping mall in two, remaining glass shattered, the doors exploded in a shower of sparks, the metal panes bent out of shape to form a huge gaping hole in the front of the mall. It slowly entered the battered shopping centre, the legs splitting and crushing debris as it went, a row of pipes pointing upwards on its hull puffed black smoke out like chimneys, the mouth of the demon spat black flames, tar and oil dripped from the seams of its corrupt construction. The golden helmet above its main battle cannon stared into Patrick's soul and cause tears to run down his cheeks. The sergeant was whispering, "Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood…" hysterically, as if possessed. He scratched his eyeballs in a gruesome manner, as if he was in great pain. The cockney grabbed the sergeant's hands and forced him to stop. The sergeant was crying… the sergeant was _dying. _

The Tau were focussed, but Patrick could see they were twitching constantly. The spider thundered down the mall, picking up speed, it seemed excited, and then it stopped at the tents, glowered down at them and ripped the canvas off its pegs with the autocannons. Norman slowly opened his eyes, then gasped and crawled backwards towards the supermarket.

Patrick held his breath, and then all hell broke loose. The monster screeched loudly and laid the full force of his weapons into the helpless human. Kathryn and the other soldier took the chance to vault the counter and sprint down to the other end of the mall, the Tau following suit. The monster stopped playing with the corpse to face the fleeing pathfinders and loosed a torrent of inaccurate missiles, smashing into the concrete walls and bringing down a section inside the supermarket. Patrick dashed down the other direction to the inviting hole in the entrance, followed quickly by the sergeant and the cockney. He moved sluggishly with the huge weight on his back and then the monster started firing its autocannons, kicking up more marble, as each projectile that hit a solid object created a small explosion. It was only a matter of time before a shot met its mark, and the sergeant was destroyed in a shower of bone and blood. Patrick rounded the corner, tripping on shards of glass as he went. The cockney quickly scooped him up again and supported the weight of the mortar. They sprinted as fast as they could up the hill towards the barrier the others were hiding behind. Bentu grabbed his arm and pulled him over the toppled bus and behind its huge wheels where the others were waiting, alert. "Set up the mortar on the pub there!" Duncan roared, pointing to a partially intact pub on a corner by a crossing. "We'll provide cover from the station." And the SAS and the Tau vaulted the wreckage and headed to the barricaded station.

The cockney led the way into the pub, followed by Kathryn, then Patrick, and finally the other soldier who had escaped with Kathryn. Patrick spied the name on the cockney's shoulder as he ran, panting. A. Stuart, Aaron printed in tipex on the back of his helmet. Aaron kicked a few stools aside, and then checked the corner of the stairs in the back, he pointed his shotgun up the stairs as he went and was nearly shredded by a knife-wielding cultist. He kicked itin the gut and six secondary projectiles pounded into its chest at such force that it smashed- arms wide- into the peeling plaster wall and stayed there, a gristly new trophy.

He kicked the door leading into an apartment down and checked the room was clear, then the others filed in as he ascended the next flight of stairs. Apart from a few cultists on the fourth floor that resulted in a brief firefight, they had no problems. They climbed the last flight of stairs and pushed past a turquoise door that was already loose on its hinges, and then assembled on the roof, the soldier backing them up keeping a close eye on the stairs. Patrick, with the help of Kathryn, assembled the mortar on its bipod so that it was sat a high enough angle so that the shells wouldn't go too far, and Kathryn removed the charge from the first shell. Aaron re-assembled his rifle with an improvised scope and set the firing mechanism to semi-automatic.

"The target is in the entrance, static, engaged with the Tau troops, suggest 84 degrees estimate." Aaron remarked. Patrick studied the dial at the mortar's base and adjusted it appropriately. "Fire one!" he shouted, and the unit braced themselves as Kathryn inserted a shell into the narrow tube. There was a loud pop and the shell soared up into the air. Aaron looked through the scope at the abomination and got a movie-feel view of the shell landing directly on the hull and exploding violently, causing it to stumble. When the smoke had cleared, the metal had crumpled inwards and its movement seemed to be largely affected. It couldn't move in one direction any less than ten metres without stopping and crashed into shops on both sides, causing a few cave ins; causing the dent to turn into a hole and cement to pour in. It was pitch black and they couldn't see a thing. It couldn't go up the hill for risk of light arms fire puncturing its vulnerable side armour in other places, and if it headed towards the station it risked heavy artillery bombardment. It decided to flee as quickly as possible, shooting a hole in a row of ships and disappearing into the rubble.


End file.
